


The Second Renaissance

by MirrorMystic



Series: Sunless Days [1]
Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, 真女神転生IV FINAL | Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse
Genre: Action, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Suspense, Tailwind Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 91,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: The World is about to change.Years after the rise and fall of the Phantom Thieves, and life in Tokyo has gone as it always has- blissfully unaware of the secret war being fought in the shadows of the city. Akira Kurusu, now a humble cafe owner, has had enough fighting for one lifetime. He and his inner circle were content to settle down and enjoy life as it came- savoring the peace and quiet, working, living, loving.That all changes on the day a blackout sweeps across Tokyo, and the former Phantom Thieves discover new friends, new enemies, and a new god to rise against.There is always Chaos. There is always an Order to oppose it.Peaceful days are over. Let’s survive.





	1. I Can Hear The Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, everyone, to The Second Renaissance. I don't want to say too much, only that character/relationship tags will be updated as spoiler characters get revealed, and that I hope you enjoy this calm before the storm. 
> 
> It's five years after the events of "Where The Lines Overlap", and eight after the events of "Tailwind". The former-Phantom Thieves are all in their mid-twenties. 
> 
> The board is set. The pieces are moving.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the read.

~*~  
  
The World did not end with a bang, or a whimper. It ended with the tolling of four mighty bells.  
  
When Makoto Niijima woke up that morning, the only bell ringing was the one on her phone. She sat up and stretched, haloed in the pale pre-dawn light. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the wild blonde mane in bed beside her, before shooting a scornful look at her phone and flicking off her alarm.  
  
Some time later, Makoto descended the steps, the very picture of the young professional. Shiho was in the kitchen, her back to the stairs, poking through the cupboards. At the sight of her, Makoto’s lips curled into a decidedly unprofessional smirk. She snuck up behind her and threw her arms around Shiho’s waist, Shiho squealing in surprise and delight.  
  
“You weren’t upstairs,” Makoto grinned into the back of Shiho’s neck. “Thought you could escape, did you?”  
  
“Oh, no, Officer, you’ve caught me!”  
  
They laughed together, Shiho wriggling around in Makoto’s grip until she was facing the other girl, looping her arms around Makoto’s neck.  
  
“Good morning, Mako,” Shiho said sweetly, planting a chaste peck against the corner of Makoto’s smile. “I take it Ann’s still asleep?”  
  
“Like a log,” Makoto smiled.  
  
“That sounds like her,” Shiho giggled.  
  
“She’d better get up soon,” Makoto chided. “She’s got a shoot in two hours.”  
  
“Of course Ann would be the latest sleeper and have the earliest shift.”  
  
“When’s yours, today?”  
  
“I’m not in until tonight,” Shiho made a face. “I’ll be in the ER.”  
  
“Oof. Have fun.”  
  
“More fun than my patients, at least,” Shiho smiled.  
  
Makoto gave Shiho an affectionate squeeze, before reluctantly parting. Shiho followed her to the doorway, where Makoto knelt in the threshold, lacing up her boots.  
  
Makoto stood and stamped her heel into place. She turned, and gave Shiho a warm smile.  
  
“Will I see you tonight?” Makoto wondered.  
  
“Probably not,” Shiho shrugged. “I’ll still be at the hospital.”  
  
“Shame,” Makoto said. She brushed a knuckle against Shiho’s cheek and gave her a chaste peck on the corner of her mouth. And then, either out of a sudden sentimentality or just a sweet, simple fondness, she drew Shiho forward into a longer, deeper kiss. She pressed her forehead into Shiho’s as their lips parted, her vivid red eyes holding her gaze.  
  
“How come Ann’s never here to give me a kiss at the door, huh?” Makoto teased.  
  
“Because she’s always here to kiss you goodnight,” Shiho said, her smile bright. “...And also because that’d mean getting her butt out of bed.”  
  
“That, too,” Makoto grinned. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Shiho smiled. “Be sure to tell Sae that Ann and I said hello.”  
  
“I will,” Makoto said. “I’ll see you.”  
  
“I’ll see you!”  
  
Makoto gave Shiho’s hand one last squeeze, and then she was out the door, the pale gray of morning beginning to blossom into scarlet and gold.  
  
On that day, before the first of the four bells began to ring, it didn’t feel at all like the World was about to end.  
  
It just felt like any other day.  
  
~*~  
  
The first of four bells rang in a place worlds away.  
  
Akira Kurusu did not hear the bell. But he felt it, in his skin, in his bones, in his dreams. The echo of the first bell jolted him awake as if from a nightmare, the sort of nightmare that vanishes upon waking, where you wake up gasping and can scarcely explain why.  
  
Whatever wordless fear passed through Akira upon the tolling of the first bell, it was promptly forgotten- smothered by the blissful, comforting warmth of Ryuji beside him.  
  
Ryuji was laying on his side, his arm and leg wrapped around him, penning him in. It was almost as if Ryuji were trying to hold him down, to make him stay, as if he was afraid that one day, Akira would wake up in the middle of the night and leave Tokyo- and his life- forever.  
  
It was a charming sentiment, but usually, when Akira got up in the middle of the night, it was just to go to the bathroom.  
  
Ryuji stirred beside him. Akira turned and saw Ryuji blinking himself awake. Akira smiled, leaning forward and bonking his forehead against Ryuji’s.  
  
“Hey,” Akira whispered.  
  
“Hey,” Ryuji echoed, Akira’s heart fluttering at his husky, early-morning voice. “What’cha thinkin’ about?”  
  
“How I really need to buy a bigger bed,” Akira muttered. He pulled his arm out from under Ryuji, shaking out the pins and needles, casually laying his fingers in Ryuji’s hair. “What are _you_ thinking about?”  
  
“You,” Ryuji grinned.  
  
Akira snorted. “That’s gay.”  
  
“Man, shuddup,” Ryuji laughed. Ryuji kissed him, gently at first, then deeper, deeper-  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Akira squirmed and pushed him away, giggling. “Dude! Morning breath! No tongue before ten!”  
  
They held each other, grinning, stifling snickers.  
  
“Don’t you two have _work_ to do?” drawled a voice. A scrawny, dark-haired boy with blue eyes and a yellow neckerchief lay draped across the couch, his hands behind his head.  
  
“What’s the matter, buddy?” Akira teased. “Jealous?”  
  
“Please,” the boy rolled his eyes. “I just thought you should be opening up the cafe, instead of lounging around in bed.”  
  
Ryuji pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Hey man, if you’re so worried about us opening on time, _you_ can help out, too.”  
  
There was a flash of yellow light, and suddenly a house cat was sitting on the couch in place of a boy.  
  
“Oh. Sorry. Can’t help you. No opposable thumbs.”  
  
“Brat,” Ryuji grinned. He chucked a pillow at the couch and sent Morgana scurrying downstairs.  
  
Akira sat up and put on his glasses. He knelt down, scooping clothes up off the floor- Ryuji still had a habit of just throwing clothes all over the place. Usually on their way to bed.  
  
“After I get a bigger bed,” Akira said, grabbing a crumpled T-shirt off the floor and inspecting it with a sniff, “the next thing on the list is a room with an actual door.”  
  
“Nah, he’ll just come in through the window,” Ryuji grinned.  
  
A balled up shirt hit him in the face. He shook it out, unfurling it.  
  
“What- is this clean?” Ryuji wondered.  
  
“It’s yours, so… ‘hopefully’?”  
  
“Fuck off, dude,” Ryuji rolled his eyes, smiling.  
  
Ryuji pulled the shirt over his head, Akira watching him all the while. It was almost a shame that it was a proper shirt instead of one of Ryuji’s countless muscle tanks. Ryuji’s abs and arms were looking better than ever.  
  
Akira couldn’t help but smile. Of course Ryuji still worked out every week, even when he worked at a cafe and rarely had to lift anything heavier than hot water over a paper cone.  
  
Something did catch Akira’s eye, however, during his shameless ogling- the alarm clock on his windowsill, flashing red.  
  
“Shit,” Akira muttered, the clock blinking ‘12:18’ at him in luminous digital red. “How long did we lose power?”  
  
“It’s right there, man. Eighteen minutes,” Ryuji said.  
  
Akira blinked. “What- Ryuji- no, dude, that’s how long since we got power _back_.” He sighed, annoyed. “Give me a second. I gotta go downstairs and check the fridges.”  
  
Akira went downstairs and into the kitchen, fussing about with a stem thermometer. Morgana watched him, still in cat form, sitting on the bar counter.  
  
“You know, this is what you get for breaking tradition,” Morgana said, lapping at a paw. “Do you think the Boss ever offered his customers cream and sugar?”  
  
“Forgive me for wanting to expand my customer base beyond ‘enormous coffee snobs’,” Akira muttered. He stood, just as Ryuji came tromping down the steps.  
  
“What’s the verdict?” Ryuji asked.  
  
“False alarm,” Akira shrugged. “Cream’s fine. Curry’s fine. I guess we only lost power for a minute or two.”  
  
“Good to hear,” Ryuji said.  
  
Akira pulled an apron off the wall hook and tied it around his waist. Then he took Ryuji’s down and did the same for him, snaking his arms casually around Ryuji’s waist and smiling playfully up at him. Ryuji obligingly leaned down and kissed him.  
  
“You taste like toothpaste,” Akira muttered.  
  
“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” Ryuji grinned.  
  
Morgana shifted back into human form, jumping down off the counter.  
  
“If you two are just gonna cuddle all day, I think I’ll go for a walk,” Morgana rolled his eyes.  
  
“Hey, at least flip the ‘Closed’ sign over to ‘Open’, would you?” Akira called out.  
  
“Yeah, yeah…”  
  
There was a jingle at the door, and Morgana went out. He paused in the doorway, narrowing his eyes at a cluster of teenagers in red hoodies loitering down the street. He frowned, but said nothing, narrowly avoiding the first wave of customers as they started to pile into the cafe.  
  
Akira and Ryuji clasped their hands over their aprons and bowed in greeting as they filed in. Akira turned, pulling coffee beans down from the shelf while Ryuji put kettles of water on to boil.  
  
Cafe Leblanc was open for business, and with the breakfast rush coming in, the wordless anxiety that woke him up this morning was the last thing on Akira’s mind. Here he was, at the counter, with Ryuji right beside him- right where Ryuji’s always been.  
  
It was just another day at the cafe. It felt normal. Right.  
  
It didn’t feel at all like the World was about to end.  
  
~*~  
  
“The end is coming!” announced a man in red, surrounded by a throng of followers all in red hoods. “The great Fire is coming to set us all alight! Repent, and pledge yourselves to the Fire! Until our souls sleep, and our bodies burn!”  
  
“Stay classy, Tokyo,” Sae Niijima murmured. She was sitting at an outdoor cafe table, watching the red-hooded crowd proselytize across the street. She shook her head, taking a sip of coffee.  
  
“That cult has been gaining a lot of pull, these past few weeks,” Makoto muttered beside her. “Doesn’t it bother you?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Sae shrugged. “Why should it? Does it bother you?”  
  
Makoto took a deep breath and exhaled. “...I don’t know.”  
  
Sae’s expression softened. She reached out and gently touched Makoto’s hand. By Sae’s standards, she might as well have dived across the table and wrapped Makoto in a hug.  
  
“We work in the Department of Justice,” Sae said. “We should be more concerned with what people _do_ , not what they think.”  
  
“Thoughts become actions,” Makoto said.  
  
“But believing something doesn’t always make it real,” Sae replied. “Come, Makoto. Don’t let a bunch of doomsayers dampen your mood. Let them talk. We should just be grateful they’re all wearing pants.”  
  
Makoto snorted, and smiled.  
  
“How are things at work?” Sae asked.  
  
“Same old,” Makoto shrugged. “Busy, busy, busy. You?”  
  
“Similar,” Sae replied.  
  
“Any juicy cases come up?”  
  
“Makoto,” Sae chided, “you know I’m not allowed to discuss that with you.”  
  
“Then how about your love life?” Makoto teased.  
  
Sae smiled. “...That’s classified.”  
  
“Come on, Sis,” Makoto pressed. “I want to meet them! _You_ still need to meet _my_ datemates.”  
  
“Makoto, I’ve known Suzui and Takamaki for years.”  
  
“But here you are, not even calling them by their first names,” Makoto chided. She exhaled, meeting Sae’s eyes. “...I love you, Sis. And I love Ann and Shiho. They’re going to be in my life forever. I know you’re busy. I know you have your own life, too. But I just… y’know… I just want to be part of it.”  
  
Sae stared at her, her vivid red eyes glinting in the morning light.  
  
“...Makoto…” Sae exhaled. “I want you in _my_ life, too. And I’m sorry to have ever given you any impression otherwise.”  
  
Sae gave Makoto’s hand an affectionate squeeze.  
  
“Let’s not wait another two months before seeing each other again, shall we?” Sae said, gently. “Let’s pick out a nice restaurant, and have an excuse to get dressed up. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet all three of you.”  
  
Makoto’s lips curled into a smile.  
  
“...So it _is_ a ‘she’?”  
  
Sae smiled, rolling her eyes.  
  
“That’s classified.”  
  
~*~  
  
The second of four bells rang in a place worlds away.  
  
Haru Okumura did not hear the bell. But she felt it, in her skin, in her bones, in the counter rattling beneath her fingertips. A wordless anxiety flickered across her senses, a shadow passing under her eyes. Her fingers trembled.  
  
Then Yusuke’s hand brushed against hers, feather-light, and her shaking fingers went still.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Yusuke asked gently, his arm the faintest of touches around the small of Haru’s back.  
  
“The guests at table four,” Haru said softly.  
  
“I, as well,” Yusuke nodded. “They’re certainly a striking group…”  
  
And they were- four women, three of them powerfully built and corded with lean muscle, the fourth slight and in a white dress, seemingly out of place beside her physically imposing companions. The other three women were wearing crisp, impeccably-tailored suits, and striking long coats, each with a violet armband and a badge- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole.  
  
“Ma’am,” said one woman, tapping away at a tablet computer, “if we could just review today’s itinerary…”  
  
“Put that away, Kiku,” another woman chided, taking a sip of tea.  
  
“The Tokyo branch office has a number of concerns-”  
  
“I said put that away,” the other woman repeated. “We’re having breakfast. We’re not working just yet. Now, please, Enjoy.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
They ate in a tense silence, the one woman constantly anxiously checking her tablet. The third woman in a suit at the table did not eat; the blonde merely sat with her hands folded in her lap, studying their surroundings.  
  
There was something wrong with her eyes, Haru thought to herself. The blonde woman had an intense, eerie stare, as if fixing you in crosshairs, and she seemed to wait uncomfortably long between blinks.  
  
The woman with the tablet dropped her fork with a clatter, staring at her tablet screen.  
  
“Ma’am!” She hissed. “Tokyo branch urgently requests your counsel-”  
  
“Kikuno,” the redhead said sharply. “...Let me finish my tea. And then we can get to work. Is that acceptable?”  
  
“...Y-Yes, ma’am,” Kikuno murmured.  
  
The red-haired woman drained her cup, before setting it back on its saucer and rising to her feet. She pulled her coat off her chair and shrugged it on, the badge at her breast glinting in the morning light.  
  
When she approached the desk, Haru tried her hardest not to faint. She clasped her hands and bowed deeply at the waist.  
  
“Please don’t,” the woman said gently, beckoning her back up.  
  
“Thank you for choosing my humble bed and breakfast, ma’am,” Haru smiled. “I trust you enjoyed your stay?”  
  
“Well, the beds were heavenly,” the woman returned her smile, “and the breakfast was divine. My compliments to the chef.”  
  
“You honor me, madam,” Yusuke bowed low, “although, I admit, eggs are not my _preferred_ medium-”  
  
Haru squeezed Yusuke’s hand before he could start to ramble. They gave their illustrious client perfect, practiced smiles.  
  
“The next time I’m in Tokyo, I’ll be sure to come back here again,” the woman beamed. “Thank you for having us.”  
  
“Thank you for staying!” Haru chirped.  
  
The woman nodded, before gathering her entourage. Her worrywart of an assistant and her blonde bodyguard gave curt nods as they donned their coats and made for the door, while the last, the woman in white, gave a bright smile and waved on her way out.  
  
The instant the doors swung shut behind them, Haru’s composure evaporated. She pulled Yusuke’s arm to her chest and held on tight.    
  
“Yu-kun!” Haru squealed, giddy with excitement. “Do you have _any_ idea who that _was_?!”  
  
“I cannot say I run in those circles, no,” Yusuke smiled, amused.  
  
“I can’t believe it!” Haru crowed. “And in _my_ inn! Oh, Mako-chan’s never going to believe this!”  
  
~*~  
  
Makoto wouldn’t, not that Haru would know until after her shift was over- Makoto wasn’t about to check her phone while she was on duty.  
  
Today had started out bright, having woken up to Shiho and then finally getting to see Sae after weeks and weeks of their schedules just not lining up, but now that Makoto had made it to work, the day was just dragging on and on. Today was going to be a paperwork day, it was turning out. Paperwork, and waiting on the shoulder for tow trucks to arrive.  
  
Makoto watched the latest tow truck disappear down the street. She sighed, thinking about Ann, about Shiho, about Haru, about anything and everything that wasn’t the droning voice of the dispatcher over the police scanner.  
  
_“10-16, this is number 213 responding to a domestic disturbance, we have arrived on scene-”_ _  
__  
__“10-53, traffic has stopped across three lanes, reporting multiple collisions-”_ _  
__  
__“10-71, this is number 47 reporting a vehicle fire at the intersection of-”_ _  
__  
__“Badge 522, what is your status, over?”_ _  
_  
Makoto shook herself out of her reverie, reaching down to her bike and clicking on her radio.  
  
“Dispatch, this is 522, I’ve resolved a traffic collision, reporting a faulty traffic light at this location, over.”  
  
_“Read you, 522. Today’s just been full of 10-49s, out.”_  
  
Makoto sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. What a day. Some kind of electrical disturbance disabled a chunk of Tokyo’s traffic lights, and now she had to clean up the mess. She’s had to deal with four traffic collisions in as many hours, and this from just a relatively minor power surge. If all of Tokyo were to lose power…  
  
Makoto shuddered at the thought. Beside her, the scanner crackled back to life.  
  
_“Dispatch, dispatch! This is badge 516 reporting a 10-32 at Shibuya Station! Repeat, armed suspect at Shibuya Station! Requesting backup!”_  
  
“Read you, 516,” Makoto said firmly. “Badge 522, en route.”  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, the lights were up on an altogether different altercation- one between the dark magical prodigy, Dusk, and the masked hero, White Rose, ally of justice.  
  
Dusk hit the ground in a jumble of tattered black and red fabric. She pushed herself up to her elbows, gritting her teeth. Before her, White Rose stood, an ornate ivory bow in her hands.  
  
“Give it up, Dusk,” White Rose said, holding her at arrowpoint. “It’s over.”  
  
Dusk rose to one knee, hissing in pain. A line of blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. She swiped it away on the corner of her sleeve.  
  
“While I’m breathing,” Dusk seethed, “this isn’t over.”  
  
Dusk stood up, her torn, tattered robe flaring in the breeze. She flexed her fingers. White Rose tightened her grip on her bow.  
  
“Dusk,” White Rose said, her expression softening. “...Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“Ha!” Dusk barked out a bitter laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous! All you’ve done so far is get in my way!”  
  
“If you just told me where the Sorcerer was hiding, I wouldn’t have to _fight_ you!”  
  
“Never!” Dusk spat. “I’ll never betray my lord Maxwell!”  
  
“Don’t you get it?!” White Rose said. “He’s just using you to do his dirty work! He’s using you as a weapon, letting your magic run out of control! It’ll destroy you from the inside out… but if you come with me, let me help you-”  
  
“Enough!” Dusk shrieked. “Enough of your lies! Maxwell saved my life. He cares about me!”  
  
“ _I_ care about you!” White Rose cried, blinking back tears. “...I… I always have.”  
  
Dusk blinked, her expression softening. “...Rose…”  
  
“Come with me, Dusk,” White Rose lowered her bow, and offered her hand. “It’ll be just like old times.”  
  
The wind picked up, and Dusk took a halting step forward, warily reaching out her hand…  
  
There was a tremble underfoot, and the lights around them all flickered and swayed. A man’s irate voice cut through the air, ruining the moment.  
  
“Cut! Cut, cut, cut!” The director groaned, pulling off his baseball cap and running his hands through his hair. “Excuse me, Lighting? What the hell was that?”  
  
“We’re sorry, sir,” a technician said, wringing his hands. “There was… some kind of power surge-”  
  
“Well, look into it!” The director snapped. He sighed, glancing over at Dusk and White Rose. “Ladies, take a break. And Takamaki, next time, can I get just a _little_ more expression, please? You’re looking a little stiff.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” ‘Dusk’ murmured, staring at the floor. The director turned and went back to berating the set crew.  
  
Ann sighed and wandered off-set. She leaned back against the side of her trailer, poking at her phone. Rose poked her head around the corner. She approached her, still carrying her prop bow.  
  
“Hey,” Rose said gently.  
  
Ann jumped.  
  
“Huh? Oh, hey,” Ann murmured.  
  
“How are you holding up?”  
  
“Oh, um…” Ann finished her text to Shiho, before pocketing her phone. “...I’m fine.”  
  
“Long day, huh?” Rose asked, knowingly. “Missing someone special?”  
  
“...Yeah,” Ann admitted. Two of them, actually, but she didn’t say that. “We’ve been busy, these past few weeks. I haven’t seen them as much as I’d like.”  
  
“I’ve been there,” Rose smiled. “Sometimes I feel like they’re already married to the job.”  
  
“But you made it work?”  
  
“Actually,” Rose made a face, “...we split up.”  
  
“Oh.” Ann blinked. “Sorry.”  
  
“It happens,” Rose shrugged. “And I mean, we’re still really close friends. But our schedules were both so packed, and we both traveled a lot... “  
  
“...Oh…” Ann murmured.  
  
“Oh, no, no, no!” Rose said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I’m sure _you’ll_ figure things out!”  
  
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ann smiled. “Thanks, senpai.”  
  
Rose smiled back, but it quickly faded into wary confusion. She gently took Ann’s shoulder and pulled her protectively behind her.  
  
“Excuse me,” Rose said carefully, “can I... help you…?”  
  
There was a man lurking behind the trailer, rake-thin, in a red hoodie. He was leering at them, a manic grin on his lips, muttering under his breath.  
  
“...Fire… The Fire is coming…”  
  
“I’m sorry, sir,” Rose said, her voice gaining an edge. “But only authorized personnel are allowed on-set. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”  
  
“I can see the Fire inside you,” the man laughed, a throaty rasp. “You’re burning… you’re already burning…!”  
  
A meaty hand clapped onto the rake’s shoulder and he jumped.  
  
“Sorry, buddy,” a man said, his voice low. “No autographs.”  
  
Security gave Rose an apologetic nod, before hustling the hooded man away. Rose exhaled, giving Ann’s arm a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“Well that was weird,” Ann said bluntly.  
  
“Fans, huh?” Rose rolled her eyes. They laughed, together.  
  
“Thanks for looking out for me, senpai,” Ann smiled.  
  
“It’s what I’m here for,” Rose grinned.  
  
The director’s voice drifted past them, calling for everyone to take their places. They started making their way back on-set.  
  
“So, is this your first time doing a scene like this?” Rose asked, as they walked.  
  
“No, actually,” Ann shrugged. “Except last time, it was with a police officer, not a masked hero, and I was a cat burglar, not a witch. Y’know… I know the director thinks I was kinda stiff, but with Dusk, I was kinda going for the whole ice queen bit, y’know? Like, she acts all emotionless because she’s convinced herself she’s this loyal servant, but White Rose is the only one who sees through the act…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I get that!” Rose chirped. “That way, the change in her expression is subtle, but telling…”  
  
“I don’t think this director knows the meaning of ‘subtle’,” Ann muttered.  
  
“He’s a diva. You’ll get those in this business,” Rose clapped a hand on Ann’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t let him get to you. You’re doing just fine.”  
  
Ann beamed at her in gratitude, her ear-to-ear grin not suited for Dusk at all.  
  
~*~  
  
_“Badge 522, check in.”_ _  
__  
__…_ _  
__  
__“Officer Niijima, what is your status?”_  
  
Makoto ducked behind a column, her hand clamped around Officer Yamada’s bicep, blood soaking through her fingers. Two more officers were rushing down from ground level, pushing their way through clusters of civilians, who’d idiotically stayed to gawk rather than making for safety.  
  
“Get them back!” Makoto barked, and the two officers backed off, working on cordoning off the area.  
  
Makoto rose to one knee, still staunching the bleeding to Yamada’s arm. Her radio crackled over her shoulder.  
  
_“Officer Niijima, what is your status?”_  
  
“Shots fired at Shibuya Station!” Makoto snapped. “I have an officer down. I need medics and a barricade at street level!”  
  
_“Understood, 522. Routing available units your way.”_ _  
__  
_ Deeper into the station, a man in a red hood was ranting and raving, waving a pistol around.  
  
“The Fire is rising!” He cried out with a manic desperation. “It will swallow us up from below!”  
  
Makoto had had quite enough of all this doomsaying. She drew her own pistol and sighted down at the man with a one-handed grip.  
  
“Tokyo Police!” Makoto barked out. “Drop it or drop!”  
  
The man laughed, echoing eerily down the subway tunnel. His hands went limp at his sides, gazing up, not at the ceiling, but at something, in his delirium, only he could see.  
  
“It’s time,” he announced, lips split into a rapturous grin. “I lift my soul like a candle to thee! I pledge myself to the Fire! Until my soul sleeps, and my body burns…!”  
  
His gaze snapped to Makoto, eyes glinting in the dim light.  
  
“Now **_BURN_** …!”  
  
Makoto saw him raise the gun-  
  
Something spattered across the man’s chest. An instant later, blue lightning arced across his form, and he crumpled, shivering, convulsing on the tile floor.  
  
“Drop your weapon!” Makoto barked, her aim snapping to the shooter.  
  
They jolted upright, holding their hands up in surrender.  
  
“Easy, officer, easy,” she said. “I have authority.”  
  
Makoto noticed, vaguely, the EMTs arriving behind her. One of them pressed a hand over Yamada’s bleeding arm.  
  
“Officer,” he said, “I’ll take the compression on three. One, two, three.”  
  
Makoto stood, her aim not flickering from the shooter. She braced her aim, her hand still slick with Yamada’s blood.  
  
“I’m going to reach into my coat,” the other woman said, “and pull out a badge. Alright?”  
  
Makoto nodded.  
  
The woman holstered her pistol, of a make Makoto didn’t recognize, and buttoned the leather strap. She reached into her coat and flipped open her badge, the crest matching the band around her arm.  
  
Makoto took a deep breath. She huffed, and lowered her aim.  
  
“Who sent you?” Makoto demanded, her voice low. “What the hell is this?”  
  
“That’s classified,” the agent said, though Makoto could see the apology in her eyes. “Take care of your man there, officer. We’ll handle it from here.”  
  
Makoto glanced back at the EMTs hoisting Yamada onto a stretcher and bundling him away. She frowned and followed them back up to where an ambulance was waiting at street level, shooting one last suspicious glance at the agents hoisting the hooded man to his feet. They wore long coats and violet armbands, and their badges gleamed in the light.  
  
An eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole.  
  
~*~  
  
The third of four bells rang in a place worlds away.  
  
Shiho Suzui did not hear the bell. But she felt it, in her skin, in her bones, in the charged, frenetic atmosphere around her. But then again, that could have been the feeling of any other night in the ER.  
  
“Incoming,” announced the nurse at the desk beside her. “Adult male, DOA, GSW to the head, self-inflicted.”  
  
“Send them to the morgue,” Shiho said.  
  
“Incoming,” the nurse continued, “Adult female, multiple lacerations to the face and arms, traffic collision.”  
  
“Put her in room six,” Shiho said. “Hiro!”  
  
“Yes, ma’am?” called an orderly in red scrubs.  
  
“Clear out room six and prepare to receive a patient.”  
  
:Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Incoming,” the other nurse announced. “Adult male, GSW to the upper right arm.”  
  
“Prep him for immediate trauma surgery,” Shiho said. “Dr. Wen is on-call.”  
  
“Understood,” the other nurse nodded. She looked up and gave Shiho a knowing smile. “Tokyo MPD wants a word.”  
  
“I see them,” Shiho smiled.  
  
Shiho looked up, across the emergency room, and caught Makoto’s eyes. She gave her fellow nurse a nod, before stepping away from her desk.  
  
A few moments later, Officer Yamada was sitting in bed, his right arm in a tight sling and a thick pad of gauze bound around his bicep. He lifted his good hand and gave Shiho a wave. Shiho smiled and waved back, joining Makoto just outside his room.  
  
“How can I serve the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department this fine evening?” Shiho teased.  
  
Makoto said nothing. She was in no mood.  
  
Shiho’s smile faded. Her fingers brushed against Makoto’s- softly, subtly. Makoto exhaled.  
  
“You know I went to Academy with him?” Makoto asked, voice low. “Good kid. Always thought he might have had a little crush on me.”  
  
“He has excellent taste, if he did,” Shiho smiled. She turned, searching Makoto’s eyes. “...Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Makoto said automatically. She huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “...I’m fried. It’s been a long day. And I have this… feeling. Like something’s going to happen, something terrible…”  
  
“It’s stress,” Shiho said gently. “You’ve been working too hard.”  
  
“Like you can talk,” Makoto smiled. “...Will I see you tonight?”  
  
“I’m getting out pretty late,” Shiho said. “But you’ll have Ann.”  
  
“I need you,” Makoto whispered, her confession raw in its simplicity.  
  
Shiho shivered. Her pinky brushed against Makoto’s, two little fingers linked in a promise.  
  
“You have me,” Shiho said, sending a flutter through Makoto’s chest. “It’s just tonight. We just have to make it through tonight.”  
  
Their eyes met and held for just a moment too long. Makoto reached up, yearning for so much more of Shiho’s touch than just their pinkies curled together. But then an orderly in red scrubs appeared over Shiho’s shoulder, and Makoto bit her lip, pulling her hand away.  
  
“Sorry,” Hiro muttered, sheepish. “Nurse Suzui?”  
  
Shiho exhaled, tearing her gaze away from Makoto’s lips. “Yes, Hiro?”  
  
“Nurse Kaede has incoming,” Hiro said. “Adult male, multiple lacerations.”  
  
“Another car accident?” Shiho asked wearily.  
  
“No, ma’am. Some kind of animal attack. It looks bad-  like he was mauled by a bear.”  
  
“Alright. Thank you, Hiro. I’ll be there in just a second.”  
  
Hiro nodded, and scurried off. Shiho sighed, and smiled, watching him go.  
  
“...It feels like just yesterday, Hiro was wheeling me down to physical therapy,” Shiho said, wistful.  
  
“Look at you now,” Makoto smiled.  
  
Shiho laced her fingers with Makoto’s for just a moment, giving her hand a squeeze.  
  
“Be strong,” Shiho said gently, though her words hung heavy in the air. “I’ll see you again soon...”  
  
~*~  
  
In a place, worlds away, the fourth of four bells was about to ring.  
  
It was a hidden place- a halfway place, lit from within by a mysterious blue glow. Everything in this place was blue. The carpet. The furniture. The lighting. Everything, including the uniforms of its attendants, and the bruises spreading across their pale flesh as they were thrown, battered and bloody, to the ground.  
  
A woman with silver hair and golden eyes grabbed the edge of her master’s desk and dragged herself to her feet, her two younger siblings lying prone and broken on the floor before her. She drew a haggard breath, her arms out protectively, her master to her left, her youngest sister to her right.  
  
Margaret, the Azure Witch, swiped a sleeve across her mouth, smearing blood across her cheek. She stood, glowering up at the formless darkness encroaching upon her master’s domain.  
  
“Get back, daemon…!” Margaret spat, clutching her compendium in her hands. “You will not enter here!”  
  
**_Brave fool_** , a voice rumbled up from the depths of the unformed world. **_No door can be denied to me._** ** _  
_****_  
_** “We have beaten you before!” Margaret hissed.  
  
**_Pawns_** , the voice rumbled. **_Pieces._**  
  
A violent tremor ripped through the Velvet Room, shuddering as if they were a house hurled aloft by a tornado. Margaret cried out in pain, dropping to one knee, her form flickering, like TV static.  
  
Throughout the onslaught, the master of the Velvet Room did not move an inch. He sat at his desk, pensive, resting his chin on his clasped hands.  
  
Even with a daemon lord crashing onto his doorstep, even with his servants brought to their knees, Igor, master of the Velvet Room, did not move.  
  
“This is forbidden,” Igor said quietly. “My master will not allow this.”  
  
**_That’s the problem with you people_** , the voice spoke from the depths, gaining an arrogant edge. **_You play by the rules. Chaos plays to win._**  
  
Igor lifted his head. He pressed his gloved hands down on his desk and slowly, resolutely, got to his feet.  
  
“I will not allow this,” Igor said simply. No threat. No anger. Merely a fact.  
  
**_You? The Fortuneteller?_** The voice all-but-laughed. **_You have no power on a field of battle._**  
  
“Indeed,” Igor smiled a rueful smile.  
  
Then he threw his arm to the side, and power exploded through the room like a hurricane.  
  
A powerful wind swept across the room, fluttering the pages of the three Compendiums scattered on the floor. Shining blue cards, like panes of glinting glass, rose from the pages and got swept into the windstorm, spiraling around Igor in the shimmering gale. And then, in a gesture seemingly at odds with the grand display of power, he withdrew a silver key from his coat pocket and entrusted it to his youngest attendant. He laid a gloved hand fondly on the top of her head, before rising and turning his face towards the storm.  
  
“Lavenza, my dear,” Igor said, in an almost fatherly manner. “It’s time for you to go.”  
  
Cards spiraled around him like tongues of azure flame. Igor raised his hand and splayed his fingers. At his silent command, the cards stopped in mid-air, bound together by lines of blue energy, forming a web of azure light around him.  
  
“It’s true, oh faceless king,” Igor began, his voice never rising from a calm, measured tone. “I am but a humble fortuneteller. I have no power on a field of battle. But my fate- and yours- is in the cards…”  
  
Igor clapped his hands together and the storm of cards exploded into azure light, surging and crashing together into two points above Igor’s head. The Velvet Room shivered by the release of energy, howling with an otherworldly wind as two figures came into view.  
  
One, beatific, hands clasped in prayer. Another, bearing the spear that began the world.  
  
Both of them shone with a resplendent white light, and radiated auras of such awesome power Lavenza felt her breath hitch in her chest.  
  
“You’re a cheating bastard,” Igor smiled. “The game is rigged to all hell, and you managed to draw first blood. But the game is only beginning. _And it’s my move._ ”  
  
The wind howled in Lavenza’s ears. She clutched her Compendium to her chest, the silver key shining in her hand, as the gentle blue glow of the Velvet Room exploded into radiant white.  
  
~*~  
  
The fourth of four bells rang in a place worlds away.  
  
Akira heard the bell. He felt it in his skin, in his bones, in his very soul.  
  
Ryuji did not hear the bell. He heard the smash of ceramic as Akira’s mug hit the floor, heard Akira scream and clutch his head. He felt the thudding of his heart and the flash of fear in his veins as he ran to catch Akira before he fell.  
  
Ann did not hear the bell. She heard her director’s angry cursing as the power flickered across the set again, devolving into confused muttering as the blackout affected not just their block, but the next, and the next. She felt the weight of her phone in her hand as she lifted it up for light, felt Rose’s protective hand on her shoulder; felt wandering eyes upon them in the dark.  
  
Haru did not hear the bell. She heard the abrupt clank of the lights in her greenhouse going dark, heard the shouting and scuffling coming from the street. She saw men in the dark, wearing red hoods. She felt Yusuke’s hand close around her wrist, as he dragged her into the inn and shut the door.  
  
Futaba did not hear the bell. She heard her own voice, screeching in outrage as her computer died while she was in the middle of something. She heard voices in the street, but she kept her curtains closed, sitting with glow-in-the-dark stars her only company until Sojiro came to check on her, a candle cupped in his hand.  
  
Shiho did not hear the bell. There were too many others ringing in her ears. It was bedlam in the emergency room, everyone shouting, everyone running. In the thirty seconds before the hospital switched from the crippled Tokyo grid to its own reserve power, they lost four patients. By the end of that night, they would lose many, many more.  
  
Makoto did not hear the bell. She heard the clunk of the lights going out, but when they did, they did not go out completely. She could still see; she could see the crowd of men filing down from street level, she could see the beer bottles in their hands, the baseball bats over their shoulders, the red hoods over their heads, shadowing their eyes. She felt the cool concrete behind her as she pressed her back to a column. She felt the anxiety flutter in her chest as she shouted her warning to the advancing crowd, lifting first her badge, then her gun. She felt the stone sink in her stomach at the familiarity of the filthy red light that filled the air…  
  
The fourth of the four bells rang, in a place, worlds away, and it rang with enough force to shiver the ground beneath their feet.  
  
That night, a blackout hit the city of Tokyo, unlike anything that had been or ever would be again. The city of Tokyo fell into darkness, lit only by fires, police sirens, and distant, unfeeling stars.  
  
The World lifted its voice, many in fear, many in pain, and a damnable few in rapturous glee.  
  
Even now, with chaos in the streets, it did not feel like the World was about to end.  
  
But soon.  
  
Soon…  
  
~*~  
  
Morgana did not hear the bell. But he heard something- a bang, a crash, like shattering glass, and a young girl’s voice, crying out in fear and pain. He peered around a corner street in Shibuya, lit with an eerie blue light.  
  
An outline of a luminous door drew itself in the air. A girl in blue, with silver butterflies in her hair, stumbled through the door, crying out as she fell onto the pavement.  
  
There was a brilliant white flash, and a bang, like a gunshot- and the doorway collapsed. It crumpled in on itself like it was made of paper and burned a glowing scar into the world, hissing and shimmering, like heat haze.  
  
The girl sat up, holding a leather-bound book to her chest. She clutched a silver key in a gloved hand, squeezing until her hand trembled.  
  
Morgana approached her in his human guise, tentatively taking a seat on the curb beside her.  
  
“Hey,” he began, gently. “Are you okay?”  
  
A luminous white butterfly flitted between them, settling on the girl’s hand. She took a shuddering breath.  
  
“No,” Lavenza said, as the white butterfly melted into wisps of blue fire, leaving her and Morgana alone in the dark.  
  
~*~


	2. Eyes in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness over Tokyo. A blackout has plunged the city into darkness, with the only light being police sirens, fires, and a familiar, filthy red light, rising from below as if from Hell itself. 
> 
> It’s the first night of the Tokyo Blackout, and only the first test of many to come. 
> 
> The World is changing. 
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Shots fired in Yongen-jaya, I repeat, shots fired in Yongen-jaya, can anyone respond? 522, do you copy? Officer Niijima, what is your status?"_

~*~  
  
The World is changing.  
  
But the more things change, the more things stay the same.  
  
Eight years hadn’t changed Makoto as much as one might think. Obviously, professionally, she went from high school valedictorian, to college grad, to police cadet, and finally, to police officer. But personally, she’s always been Makoto. Always steady. Always diligent. Always insightful.  
  
Insightful enough to see the situation she was in now and feel a keen sense of deja vu.  
  
She had been pursuing a suspect on foot when the blackout first hit. She’d chased him down into Shibuya Station when the station lost power, and the bright fluorescent white switched to a dim, ominous red.  
  
Makoto lost him in the station, having bled precious time having to carefully pick her way down the stairs in the dim light, while he had charged ahead, heedless, apparently not caring if he fell down the stairs and broke his neck.  
  
But as Makoto stepped onto a curiously empty subway platform, hearing the soft padding of footsteps behind her and seeing men emerging from the shadows, she smiled a rueful smile and realized she’d walked into a trap.  
  
Makoto’s time as a Phantom Thief felt like so long ago. She missed it, to be honest. She missed the feeling of shooting down the tunnels of Mementos on Johanna, the wind in her hair. She missed her scarf, even though, in hindsight, that could only ever be a liability in close combat. She missed the feelings of awe and attraction she sparked inside her friends as she leapt into the fray.  
  
Mostly, she missed the feeling of being fearless.  
  
Here and now, more than anything, she wished she was unafraid.  
  
She watched them come out of hiding, materializing as if they were made of shadow itself. At least a dozen men, maybe two, forming a loose circle around her, carrying glass bottles, baseball bats, bicycle chains, pocket knives. Makoto backed away, further into the station, tension coiling in her stomach.  
  
Makoto gasped as her back pressed against a column, and in that instant of fear, of simple, instinctive desire, she thought of Ann. She thought of Ann, looking at her now, cracking a joke about how ‘nobody puts Baby in a corner’. She thought of how Ann was probably the only person on the planet who could get away with calling her ‘baby’. ( _Maybe_ Haru, and only if she was doing it to taunt her.)  
  
She thought of Ann, waiting for her at home at the end of a long day, with her flaxen hair and sky blue eyes and a smile that made the twelve-hour patrol worth it in the end.  
  
But then Makoto opened her eyes, and could see only red.  
  
Everything was red down here. It was the dim glow of Shibuya Station’s emergency lighting. It was the hoods of the gang that had her cornered, shadowing their eyes.  
  
It was the flashing anger of Makoto’s eyes in the dark.  
  
“Back off!” Makoto snapped, raising her badge. “Tokyo MPD!”  
  
Still they came, step by step. Their faces were blank, but their intent was unmistakable. And Makoto realized, ruefully, that this wasn’t the first time she was surrounded by creatures of hostile intent, on a subway platform lit with filthy red light.  
  
Makoto balled her fists and slipped into a practiced fighting stance.  
  
Makoto grit her teeth. The more things change...  
  
~*~  
  
They say that character is what you are in the dark.  
  
They say that in times of crisis and adversity, when you act without thought for image or reputation, is when your truest self shines through.  
  
If that was the case, Akira’s truest self was leaning against the counter at Leblanc, nursing a headache and grumbling with an apron around his neck. He wondered what that said about him. Probably that he was taking too much after his dad.  
  
Akira sighed, massaging his knuckles into his forehead. He felt a cool glass set itself down against his hand on the counter. Akira’s fingers closed around the aspirin Ryuji dropped into his palm, and he took it with a grateful sigh.  
  
“How ya feelin’?” Ryuji asked.  
  
“A little better,” Akira muttered, and he meant it- half an hour ago, when the blackout had hit the city, it was like a grenade had gone off in his skull. Now, it had dulled to a persistent ache- more annoying than anything. But the timing of it all- having hit him the same instant the blackout began- left Akira worried. Worried that this headache wasn’t an ordinary one, and that this blackout wasn’t, either.  
  
The familiar warmth of Ryuji’s arm around his shoulder stilled those restless thoughts.  
  
“Good,” Ryuji smiled. “Anything else I can do for ya?”  
  
“Well, there _is_ one thing,” Akira smirked, “but this hardly seems like the time.”  
  
Ryuji shook his head and shoved him away.  
  
“Man,” Ryuji rolled his eyes, “here I am, tryin’ to be nice, and _that’s_ all you can think about?”  
  
“It’s because you’re just so strong and manly,” Akira said flatly.  
  
“Kiss-ass.”  
  
There was plenty Akira could have said to make Ryuji regret that choice of words, but neither of them were really in the mood. The blackout hung over them like a curtain of black velvet, the darkness broken only by their phones and their eyes glinting in the feeble light.  
  
“Man,” Ryuji muttered, somber, peering out the door.  
  
“What does it look like out there?” Akira asked from the counter.  
  
“I dunno,” Ryuji shrugged. “I can’t see a damn thing.”  
  
“How far do you think it’s spread?” Akira asked. “You think it’s hit the whole city?”  
  
“No way, dude. That’d be huge. I can’t even remember the last time all of Tokyo lost power,” Ryuji said, glancing down at his phone. “No cell service, though. So, a good chunk of the city, at least.”  
  
“We’ve still got water, which is something,” Akira said. “But no power, no cell phones…”  
  
Akira blinked. He reached over to the old yellow rotary phone on the edge of the counter, and held the receiver up to his ear.  
  
Ryuji glanced back at him from the door.  
  
“Anything?” he asked.  
  
“I’m getting a dial tone,” Akira said. “Maybe landlines still work?”  
  
“Let’s try it,” Ryuji said, taking a seat at the counter.  
  
Akira nodded, reaching for the dial...  
  
~*~  
  
Things were quiet at Okumura Inn. It was tucked away on the edge of the city, close enough that their guests could still go into town to see the sights, but far enough that Haru’s days in the garden or the greenhouse wouldn’t be disturbed by the noise of traffic.  
  
Despite the blackout, Haru was not one to cower in the dark. She sat, back straight, her hands folded primly in her lap, while Yusuke put a kettle on for tea, thankful that their burners still ran on gas.  
  
The inn was tiny, all told. Aside from their own living space, there were only four rooms, making their humble bed and breakfast a little humbler than the average. But it was theirs, and it was home.  
  
In the years since the rise and fall of the Phantom Thieves, Haru and Yusuke had settled into a comfortable, chaste partnership. Haru indulged Yusuke’s expensive tastes, in art, decor, and his perennial difficulty with finances; Yusuke gave Haru his quiet support, his companionship, and his steady, soothing presence that reminded Haru she wasn’t alone. Their interests aligned; Haru had her garden and greenhouse, while Yusuke had his studio and kitchen. They cooked, cleaned, and created together, indulging each other in all the ways they could.  
  
And when it came to the desires of Haru’s that Yusuke could not satisfy, those were the days he would watch the desk, smile warmly and knowingly at Makoto, or Ann, or Akira as they climbed the steps to Haru’s room, and everyone in Okumura Inn, guests included, would be quietly grateful for the soundproofed walls.  
  
It was a gentle, peaceful life. Even now, with sirens in the distance and shadows climbing up the walls, Okumura Inn was a mask of calm.  
  
That calm promptly shattered when the telephone shrieked from its stand, and the shock of the sudden noise almost made Yusuke drop Haru’s tea.  
  
Haru stood, making for the phone while Yusuke carefully set Haru’s tea on the counter. Haru glanced warily at a shadow passing across the door, before answering the phone.  
  
“Hello?” she asked.  
  
_“Haru? Are you-”_  
  
“Akira!” Haru gasped, her composure melting. Yusuke obligingly pulled up a chair and Haru sank into it, gratefully. “...Oh, Aki-kun. I’ve been hearing sirens for what feels like hours. Are you alright?”  
  
_“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. I’m at Leblanc with Ryuji. Futaba and Sojiro are right next door.”_  
  
“Thank goodness,” Haru sighed, smiling.  
  
_“What about you? Do you still have power?”_  
  
“I’m okay. Yu-kun’s with me,” Haru said, reaching out and squeezing Yusuke’s hand. “But no, we don’t have power, either. You don’t think the whole city’s out, do you…?”  
  
_“Damn. I don’t know. But this is starting to sound more serious than I thought. Have you heard anything from Ann and her girls?”_ _  
_  
“No, nothing,” Haru said. “I take it cell phones are down. Did you try her house?”  
  
_“Yeah, and we got nothing. We figure they could be at work. That means Shiho’s at the hospital, but who knows about Makoto and Ann. Ryuji and I are thinking of looking for them.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Let us know if you find anything,” Haru said, managing a smile. “Though, I wouldn’t worry too much about Mako-chan. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s got everything under control.”  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, Makoto’s ears were ringing.  
  
It could have been her body letting her know somebody was thinking of her. Or it could’ve been the meaty fist that caught her by the ear and sent her reeling with a dizzying punch.  
  
Makoto staggered back, her head spinning. A red hooded cultist got his arm around her from behind and hoisted her up off her feet. Makoto cried out and kicked her legs forward, her momentum carrying her into an over-the-shoulder throw. The man hit the pavement with a crack. Makoto shattered his nose beneath her heel.  
  
Makoto ducked under a punch, a cultist breaking his fingers against the concrete column. She flinched away from a thrown bottle. It smashed against the pillar and sprayed her with glass shards, flecking her face with blood.  
  
A chain wrapped around Makoto’s wrist and wrenched her arm back. She cried out in pain and outrage, coiling her fingers around the chain. She yanked the cultist forward, dragging him into the path of another man charging at her in a diving tackle. Their bodies crashed together with a meaty slap, and they toppled past.  
  
Makoto took the chain and wrapped it around the arm of another incoming punch. She pulled the chain taut and turned his blow aside. He toppled over a bench, carried by his own momentum.  
  
Makoto hissed as something cracked into her leg from behind. She fell to one knee, seething, as a cultist raised an aluminum baseball bat over his head. Her collapsible baton appeared in her hand in a flash of metal. She crunched her baton up between the hapless cultist’s knees, the man dropping his bat and wheezing in pain, before the spinning heel of Makoto’s boot cracked into his jaw and hurled him to the floor.  
  
The tidal wave of bodies came to a sudden stop, and Makoto got to her feet, her left leg throbbing and unsteady, clutching her left knee with one hand and her baton with the other.  
  
“The Fire,” came a voice.  
  
The whole group turned towards the speaker, even those Makoto had left bloody and broken on the platform’s tiled floor.  
  
Another red-hooded cultist was approaching the mob, descending the steps from ground level. He was hugging himself and giggling, a wild grin on his face.  
  
“Don’t you see?” He laughed, a sick, mad thing. “She’s burning! She’s already burning…!”  
  
And Makoto realized, with a start, that she _was_ . Little tongues of flame were rising from her fists, her arms, climbing up her boots, filling the crimson gloom of Shibuya Station with a soft, bluish-white glow.  
  
Makoto paused, studying her newfound aura of azure flame with a quiet awe.  
  
Then she saw the glint of metal, and the crazed eyes in the dark.  
  
“Drop it!” Makoto snapped, her hand going to her own holster.  
  
She saw him raise the gun-  
  
~*~  
  
Akira jolted upright, instinctively hunting for the sound. What he found was the glint of Ryuji’s eyes in the dark, wide with fear and concern.  
  
“Holy shit,” Ryuji breathed, peering out onto the street. “That was a gunshot.”  
  
“What the fuck? Let me see,” Akira said, appearing over Ryuji’s shoulder.  
  
“Dude, there’s nothing to see. It’s dark as fuck out there.”  
  
“Did you hear where it came from?’  
  
“I dunno, man. Down the street, maybe? It was close. Do you think the Doc-”  
  
A face appeared in the doorway and they screamed, clinging to each other. A key clicked in the lock and Sojiro stepped inside. He raised an eyebrow at Akira and Ryuji, giggling in embarrassment and relief.  
  
“Hey,” Sojiro said. “Are you kids alright?”  
  
“We’re fine, we’re fine,” Akira said gently, shoving Ryuji away. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
No sooner had he pushed Ryuji off of him than Futaba had marched up and taken his place. She threw her arms around Akira’s waist and clung to his chest.  
  
“Hey, bug,” Akira said warmly. She squeaked as he smoothed a hand through her hair. “This doesn’t feel like a ‘I’m so glad you weren’t killed by robbers’ hug.”  
  
“It’s not,” Futaba grumbled. “It’s a ‘I was in the middle of coding when this dumb blackout came and I lost everything’ hug.”  
  
“Yikes,” Ryuji muttered.  
  
“Yeah, ‘yikes’,” Futaba sighed. She let go of Akira and turned to Ryuji, bonking her head into his sternum. “...Although, yeah, I’m glad you guys didn’t get hurt, or robbed, or whatever.”  
  
“It’s getting crazy out there,” Sojiro muttered, combing his fingers through his hair. “People are throwing bricks and bottles in the streets. Vandals. Looters. It’s unbelievable. Not even an hour without electricity and some people are already trying to line their pockets.”  
  
“And there are these, I guess, gang members running around, too,” Futaba added. “Creeps in red hoods, shouting about ‘fire’ or some bullshit.”  
  
“Great,” Akira muttered. “We have to worry about arsonists, too?”  
  
“On the bright side,” Ryuji chimed in, “chances are they won’t torch the place until _after_ they’ve robbed it.”  
  
“Pfft,” Futaba began, “some bright si-”  
  
A second gunshot. Then a third. They froze, searching the air, listening, waiting.  
  
“...That was close,” Ryuji said softly. “Right down the street.”  
  
“Tae,” Akira breathed. He met Ryuji’s eyes. They nodded, and made for the door.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey!” Sojiro said sharply. “What do you two think you’re doing?”  
  
“Stay here, Boss,” Ryuji said. “We’re just gonna check on the Doc-”  
  
“Like hell you are!” Sojiro stood firm. “You think I’m going to let you out of this building- or out of my _sight_ \- when we just heard gunshots down the street?!”  
  
“Let it go, Dad,” Futaba said, while Akira ducked into the kitchen and started rummaging. “Tae’s… y’know. She’s in.”  
  
“She’s part of your little club, too, is she?” Sojiro scowled. His scowl only deepened when Akira emerged from the kitchen and tossed a baseball bat to Ryuji, tugging his shirt down over the hilt of a hunting knife sheathed at his belt.  
  
Sojiro sighed. He reached into a shelf behind the counter.  
  
“Here,” Sojiro grumbled, handing Akira and Ryuji a pair of flashlights. “Go ahead, check on the Doc. But you two better come back in one piece, y’hear me?”  
  
“Thanks, Dad,” Akira nodded.  
  
“I’ll take care of him, sir,” Ryuji said.  
  
“You’d better,” Sojiro grumbled, though he was smiling in the end.  
  
Akira and Ryuji made for the door.  
  
“Hey!” Sojiro called, as they ventured into the dark. “Don’t get shot!”  
  
~*~  
  
Makoto’s shot was perfect.  
  
The blast echoed eerily down the tunnels, the shot striking the cultist right between the eyes. A ghastly spray of gore burst out of the back of his skull. He remained standing for just a moment, staggering back a few steps. Despite the grisly wound, his eyes remained fixed forward in a wild, manic stare. He was grinning from ear to ear.  
  
“Until my soul sleeps,” he gurgled, chuckling, “and my body burns…”  
  
He crumpled to the ground. A thick, dark, sticky substance, too viscous to be blood, oozed out of the hole in the skull, forming a pool of blood and tar where he lay.  
  
He died laughing, his voice sending ripples across the pool of black and red.  
  
And in the sound of his rapture, the puddle began to change...  
  
~*~  
  
Takemi Medical Clinic looked even less inviting with the lights off.  
  
It was uninviting on the best of days, really. Tae liked to keep the lights low, for ‘ambiance’, whatever that meant. But in the dark, with Akira and Ryuji sneaking around with a knife at Akira’s hip and a baseball bat over Ryuji’s shoulders…  
  
Well, okay. Akira and Ryuji didn’t look all that hospitable, either.  
  
Akira silently eased open the outermost door of Tae’s building, his finger to his lips for quiet. Inside, there was the sound of rustling papers, clinking bottles, boxes being pulled off shelves. Ryuji and Akira slowly made their way inside, Ryuji taking the lead.  
  
The door to the examination room was ajar, and weak yellow light spilled through. The two boys exchanged glances, their eyes meeting in the dark. Akira nodded.  
  
Ryuji opened the door.  
  
The second he did so, there was a gun in his face.  
  
Ryuji went very, very still.  
  
“Easy, Doc!” Ryuji hissed, his hands up. His bat clattered to the floor. “Easy. It’s- It’s just me. It’s Ryuji. Remember?”  
  
Tae’s glare was vivid and dangerous in the half-light. She reached behind her with her free hand, her aim never flickering from Ryuji’s face. She took a camp lantern off her desk and lifted it up so she could see more clearly.  
  
“Blondie,” she said almost warmly, lowering her pistol. Her lantern-light glinted off of Akira’s glasses over Ryuji’s shoulder. “And my little guinea pig. What’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”  
  
“We heard gunshots,” Akira said. “We were worried.”  
  
“I’m touched,” Tae said, flippantly, though Akira could see the sincerity in her eyes.  
  
Tae set her lantern and her pistol down on her desk and went back to what she was doing- clearing off shelves of medicine and medical supplies and stuffing them into duffle bags. Akira knelt beside her, meeting her eyes with a wordless question. She nodded, curtly, and Akira helped her with her work.  
  
Ryuji lingered in the doorway, anxiously keeping an eye on the door down the hall. He glanced back at the others, his eyes drawn to a dark mark on Tae’s neck.  
  
“You, uh,” Ryuji cleared his throat. “You have an exciting night, Doc?”  
  
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with junkies hunting for a fix,” Tae said, calm, matter-of-fact. “But this _is_ the first time one of them’s bitten me.”  
  
Ryuji cringed. What he’d taken for a hickey in the poor light was actually a bite, dark and bruising.  
  
“Are you okay?” Akira murmured beside her.  
  
Tae shrugged. “Didn’t even break the skin.”  
  
“No, I mean… are you okay?”  
  
Tae paused. She held Akira’s eyes, looking almost… confused, as if it had never occurred to her that someone might ask.  
  
“...Yeah,” Tae said gently. “Thank you.”  
  
Akira only nodded.  
  
“So what happened?” Ryuji asked, still keeping an eye on the door.  
  
“Three, maybe four guys came busting in here, shouting and cussing up a storm,” Tae muttered. “It turns out, fancy magnetic locks aren’t worth shit in a blackout. Go figure. Most of ‘em went running when I fired a warning shot and ruined my damn ceiling. The last one, well…”  
  
Ryuji’s foot nudged against something in the dark.  
  
There was a man lying face-down on the exam room floor. In the dark, neither of the boys had seen him. Ryuji bit back the urge to shout in alarm.  
  
“F-Fuck,” Ryuji swallowed hard. “Is… is he-”  
  
“He’s the one who bit me,” Tae said coldly, “and yes, he is. Two to the chest.”  
  
Ryuji stared at him, a mere shadow on the floor cast by the lantern’s feeble light. It was Akira who broke the dreadful quiet.  
  
“You can’t stay here,” Akira said. “It isn’t safe.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly,” Tae said. “Thank you for helping me pack. Blondie, could you help me carry this?”  
  
“Y-Yeah,” Ryuji stammered, immediately grateful when Tae handed him a duffle bag of valuable medical supplies rather than a body bag.  
  
Tae holstered her pistol in a shoulder rig concealed beneath her labcoat. She lifted her lantern and led the boys out of her clinic, each of them laden with bags.  
  
“No point in locking up if they’ve already broken my doors down,” Tae muttered. “Just help me get these down to my car. Hopefully my stock will be safer in my trunk than in here.”  
  
“You’re not planning on driving out in this, are you?” Ryuji asked.  
  
“Well, I’m certainly not staying here.”  
  
“The roads are a mess ‘cuz of the blackout,” Ryuji said. “You’re not gonna get out of the parking lot.”  
  
“Stay with us, then,” Akira offered. “Come down the street to my folks’ place. It’ll be safer there than it is here. And…” Akira swallowed. “...I’ll feel better if everyone’s together.”  
  
If Tae wanted to poke fun at Akira’s sentimentality, she didn’t show it.  
  
“Thank you,” Tae said softly, smiling in gratitude.  
  
The trio made their way back to Leblanc, to Sojiro, to Futaba, and, hopefully, to safety.  
  
In the darkness of Takemi Medical Clinic, a dead man melted into blood and tar.  
  
~*~  
  
“I’m against this,” Sojiro grumbled, his arms across his chest.  
  
“What? Boss, come on,” Ryuji protested. “The Doc’s cool. And her clinic got-”  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Sojiro said. “She can stay. And you should be, too! Not running back out into the dark to pull some damn fool hero nonsense!”  
  
Ryuji huffed, frustrated. They had gathered in Sojiro’s house, reasoning that the cafe didn’t have much worth stealing, and that they’d be safer behind a door that didn’t have glass panels that could be easily kicked in.  
  
“Dad, we have to go,” Akira said, as gently as he could. “You were fine with us checking on Tae.”  
  
“That was just down the street,” Sojiro snapped. “You’re talking about going halfway across the city, on foot, in the middle of a blackout!”  
  
“It’s Ann, Dad,” Akira pleaded. “She’s our friend.”  
  
“And you’re my _son_ !” Sojiro barked. Across the room, Futaba flinched- Sojiro never raised his voice like this. “Both of you! And I won’t have you going out there and getting yourselves killed!”  
  
Akira met Sojiro’s gaze, neither of them backing down. Futaba watched them from the couch, tense, jumping when Tae laid a comforting hand on her hair. Ryuji lingered by the door, restless, unwilling to wait much longer.  
  
Sojiro broke first. He heaved an exasperated, defeated sigh.  
  
“...Go, then,” Sojiro muttered. “But you’d better come back in one piece. And you’d better keep me posted. You said landline phones still work, right? I want an update the minute you find anything.”  
  
“Got it,” Akira nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
“Come here.”

Sojiro pulled him into a brief hug. Sojiro wasn’t a big hugger. But as they parted, Futaba was more than willing to pick up the slack. She pounced on Akira, throwing her arms around his waist.  
  
“Time for you to make like a tree,” Futaba mumbled into Akira’s chest.  
  
“What, and leave?”  
  
“And _come home_ ,” Futaba whispered, and Akira’s heart ached. “Promise me.”  
  
“I promise,” Akira murmured into Futaba’s hair. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Futaba said. She peered around Akira. “Even _you_ , Ryuji!”  
  
“Thanks, nerdling,” Ryuji grinned. He gave Sojiro a polite nod as Akira reluctantly let Futaba go and joined him at the door. “And thank you, Boss. We’ll be back before you know it.”  
  
“Ryuji and I both have our keys,” Akira said. “Lock the door, and don’t let anyone in without one.”  
  
“Be safe,” Sojiro muttered. “And stay out of trouble.”  
  
“No promises,” Akira flashed him a cocksure grin, and he and Ryuji were out the door.  
  
“I swear, those two are going to be the death of me…” Sojiro muttered, shaking his head. He glanced over to Tae, meeting her eyes. “Well, make yourself at home…”  
  
Outside the Sakura residence, Akira was doing one last check before he and Ryuji ventured out. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Flashlight? Check. Hunting knife? Check. Boyfriend...  
  
Ryuji was a little ways away, flipping the sign on Leblanc’s door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Akira smiled, despite everything, their eyes meeting in the dark.  
  
“What?” Ryuji grinned. “We forgot.”  
  
Ryuji shouldered his baseball bat and stood at Akira’s side, the darkness of the blackout stretching out before them. In the dark, the narrow streets of Yongen-jaya looked sinister and unfriendly. Akira was glad to have Ryuji with him- right where he’s always been. And Ryuji wasn’t the only one, either. Far from it.  
  
“I want to get everyone together, if we can,” Akira said. “There’s safety in numbers, and I just want to know that everyone’s accounted for.”  
  
“That’s gonna be easier said than done, man. Ann, Makoto and Shiho are one thing, but Haru and Yusuke are all the way on the other side of the city. How are we gonna get ‘em all back to Sojiro’s?”  
  
“We’ll get there when we get there,” Akira said. “Let’s just worry about Ann. Hopefully we can find her at her place.”  
  
“Hopefully.”  
  
“Are you sure about this?” Akira asked, already knowing the answer. “It’s gonna be a long walk.”  
  
“Dude. It’s Ann.” Ryuji said, with the utmost fondness. “If I had to, I’d crawl to her on my hands and knees.”  
  
“Aww.”  
  
“Don’t tell her I said that.”  
  
~*~  
  
While Akira and Ryuji ventured into the dark, Makoto stood, enveloped in a hellish red light, a cultist dead at her feet. But as his corpse, smiling in death, dissolved into blood and tar, something pulsed through the gloom- a crawling feeling under her skin, one she hadn’t felt in almost a decade.  
  
Something crawled out of the puddle of black and red. Something in the semblance of a man, but rake-thin, and pale as death.  
  
Beady, once-human eyes glinted at her in the dark. The ghoul opened its toothy jaws in an unearthly shriek.  
  
Makoto shot it in the face.  
  
Her shot burst one of its eyes in its socket and spun it from torque. Another trio of shots struck it in the chest. The ghoul stumbled backward, but did not fall, glaring at Makoto with one ruined, empty eye and one that shone red with gleeful cruelty.  
  
Makoto felt something- a tingling in her fingers, and a whisper in her ear. A gust of wind shot down the tunnel, as if a train were going past. All around her, the cult seized and shivered, clutching their heads in pain, shouting out their rapture. And then they died, smiling, dissolving into blood and tar.  
  
All at once, Makoto found herself struck by the enormity of her frustration. She wasn’t afraid. She was irritated. She was annoyed. She was angry.  
  
She’d had a long day. She didn’t want to deal with this bullshit. She wanted to go home. She wanted to take a long shower. She wanted to see Shiho. She wanted to see Ann.  
  
Right now, all she could see was red.  
  
Except that wasn’t quite true. As the cultist, now-ghoul, had proclaimed just moments ago, she was burning- burning with an aura of azure flame, one that felt cool and comfortingly familiar.  
  
In that moment, with righteous anger swelling in her chest, she felt the purity of her own desire. She didn’t want to be here, surrounded by ghouls, fighting for nothing but her own survival.  
  
She wanted to fight for the people she loved.  
  
A clawed hand cut through her thoughts and slapped her service pistol out of her hands. Makoto let out a cry of pain and frustration, cracking the ghoul across the jaw.  
  
The ghoul’s skull exploded, trailing gore and wisps of blue flame.  
  
Makoto stared at her hand in shock, before dropping into a fighting stance. Deep within her, she felt the stirrings of a voice. It was too far away to pick out the words, but still, she could hear it calling…  
  
“Yes,” Makoto whispered, like a prayer. “Come back to me.”  
  
The legion of ghouls rose up around her, trading their enraptured shouting for blank groans and inhuman wails. Blue fire coalesced around Makoto’s form, gathering around her fists and trailing from her neck like a comet- or a scarf.  
  
Makoto stood there, an island of blue among a sea of hellish red, and out of her aura of azure flame, she saw something rise- a curl of flame that, for a moment, just for a moment, looked like a butterfly.  
  
Makoto grit her teeth, feeling the ghostly weight of her cesti in her hands.  
  
“Come on!” Makoto screamed into the advancing crowd. “ _COME ON!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
“Come on,” Akira hissed, urgently, haloed by the red-and-blue of passing police sirens.  
  
“Wait,” Ryuji said, pointing with his chin. “Isn’t that…?”  
  
Akira turned towards the station square. There was a motorcycle parked on the curb, its onboard radio crackling in the night.  
  
_“Badge 522, come in,”_ said a voice, through the static. _“Officer Niijima, what is your status?”_  
  
~*~  
  
It wasn’t elegant.  
  
It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t graceful, or glorious.  
  
It was messy. It was desperate.  
  
It was over.  
  
Makoto stood, ankle-deep in bodies, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her uniform was shredded, and was plastered to her skin with blood, sweat, and who knew what else. Her aura of blue fire had disappeared, taking with it all but the last tremulous scraps of her strength. In the twilit gloom, all she could see was red.  
  
Makoto took a step, her boots adhering unpleasantly to the sticky sheen of blood on the tile floor. She stumbled over a ghoul’s arm, barely catching herself in time. She heard a dense, heavy clatter. She looked down and retrieved her fallen pistol with numb, shaking fingers.  
  
Then she saw a flicker of movement, and training cut through her exhaustion. She snapped her aim towards the stairs.  
  
“Freeze!” she barked, her voice hoarse.  
  
“Makoto,” they said. Their voice was like cotton in her ears. “Makoto, it’s me!”  
  
“Don’t… move…”  
  
Makoto rasped, her aim wavering. The figure blurred, into two, into ten. Makoto’s vision swam. Her limbs felt like jelly. She took an unsteady step, her head pounding, and then she was falling, falling-  
  
Akira caught her, her form sticky with blood. He gently lowered her down to the floor, shrugging off his jacket and drawing the knife from his belt, forcing his thoughts on action instead of panic, horror, a thousand other things.  
  
“Ryuji,” Akira said quietly, pulling Makoto’s pistol out of her limp fingers and handing it to him. Ryuji took it, staring.  
  
“H-Holy shit,” Ryuji stammered, his eyes flicking between Makoto, drenched in blood, and the bodies she'd piled on the platform. “Oh, god, what a f-fuckin’ mess…”  
  
“Stay calm,” Akira said, with a tremor in his voice that suggested he didn’t have much calm to share. He tore his jacket into long, thin strips, and started wrapping Makoto’s arms, wracking his brain for every scrap of first aid knowledge he’d ever picked up in passing, coming up horribly, horribly short.  
  
“Think we can get her to the Doc?” Ryuji wondered.  
  
“I don’t know,” Akira said, the words catching his heart like a fishhook. “Help me.”  
  
Ryuji nodded and started wrapping up Makoto’s other arm. It was impossible to tell how much of the blood was Makoto’s. But from the multitude of slashes criss-crossing her arms, tearing her uniform to shreds…  
  
“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice cut through the fear. “Who’s down there?”  
  
“Hey!” Ryuji shouted back, desperate. “ _Help us!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
Things at the Sakura residence were quieter, but no more calm. Futaba was sitting on the couch, fidgeting. Sojiro had gone upstairs. He said he was going to try to get some sleep, but Futaba knew better. Neither of them were getting any sleep until Akira and Ryuji got home safe.  
  
Futaba leaned back, letting out a frustrated sigh. She felt so useless. Trekking across the city to make sure your friends were safe just wasn’t her area of expertise. But with the power out, what was she supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?  
  
A hand fondly pressed against her hair, and Futaba squeaked.  
  
“Bug,” Tae said, by way of greeting.  
  
“Spider,” Futaba nodded.  
  
Tae took a seat beside her, casually draping an arm across the back of the couch as if in invitation. After a moment, Futaba shuffled closer, to Tae’s amusement.  
  
“Cold?” Tae asked, smiling.  
  
“Shut up,” Futaba murmured. She tentatively lay her head against Tae’s shoulder.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Tae asked.  
  
Futaba shrugged. “...My brother.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
Futaba rolled her eyes. “The _cool_ one.”  
  
“Be nice to Blondie. He helped me carry my bags today.” Tae smiled. “...Say, isn’t his mom single? And your dad’s single, too. So, if you ever wanted to make it official-”  
  
“Except that would mean Ryuji would be dating his stepbrother,” Futaba muttered. “Which, I am told, is something generally frowned upon.”  
  
“True,” Tae shrugged. “But, if your dad ever wanted to get back in the game…”  
  
Futaba sat up, making a face. “...Are you hitting on my dad?”  
  
“Do I look like I prefer older men?” Tae chuckled. “That’s the polar opposite of my type.”  
  
“...Are you hitting on _me_ ?”  
  
“I think I just have a naturally seductive voice,” Tae purred. “...Makes it rather awkward delivering diagnoses, all told.”  
  
“Eh,” Futaba shrugged. “I don’t know the first thing about flirting, anyway.”  
  
“Try me.”  
  
“Okay, um…” Futaba looked up and studied Tae in the dim light of her lantern- her eyes, her choker, her chest, the slight bulge in her labcoat-  
  
“Oh! Oh! Okay,” Futaba cleared her throat. “Uh… Is that a gun under your coat, or are you just happy to see me?”  
  
Tae snorted. She reached over and fondly ruffled Futaba’s hair.  
  
Futaba suddenly went still. And as much as Tae would love to think her touch was just that electrifying, she could feel it too- a change in the atmosphere, a tension.  
  
“There’s someone at the door,” Futaba whispered.  
  
“You’re sure?” Tae asked, and then she heard it, too- a scraping, scratching sound.  
  
Tae looked at Futaba, their eyes meeting in the dark.  
  
“Stay here,” Tae said softly, urgently. She stood up and made for the door, reaching into her coat…  
  
~*~  
  
The door flew open. Shiho jumped.  
  
“S-Sorry,” Kaede said, sheepish, reaching past her. “I just needed some gauze.”  
  
Shiho nodded, slipping her phone back into her pocket, embarrassed that her senpai had just caught her hiding in the supply closet. For Kaede’s part, she didn’t seem all that surprised.  
  
“Are you okay?” Kaede asked gently.  
  
Shiho took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“Hang in there,” Kaede said, patting Shiho’s hand. “We just have to get through tonight.”  
  
Kaede slipped away and shut the door behind her, leaving Shiho alone with her thoughts.  
  
This supply closet was Shiho’s sanctuary. Every introvert has a sanctuary, whether it’s a room, or a book, or a pair of headphones. This was where Shiho came to take a moment to breathe, whenever things got a little too crazy. And tonight was crazier than most.  
  
The hospital was running on reserve power, an island of light among the darkness of the city. Thanks to the blackout, the ER was in chaos. The cases they got from car accidents alone were enough to spill out of the ER and into neighboring wings. But then there were the fights, the domestic incidents, the strange new wave of animal attacks…  
  
Shiho sighed, and took a moment to breathe. She pulled her phone back out, gazing fondly at her lock screen.  
  
Tonight. She just had to get through tonight.  
  
Shiho looked up as the door flew open again.  
  
“Nurse Suzui-” Hiro began, then stopped, eyes catching the light of Shiho’s phone.    
  
Shiho couldn’t blame him. She was rather taken with the photo, herself.  
  
Haru had taken the photo a few months ago, when they’d all had a girls’ night out at the amusement park, save for Futaba, who thanked them for sparing her the noise and the crowds. It was Makoto on a park bench, with Ann and Shiho on either side. She and Ann were pressing kisses to each of Makoto’s cheeks, their arms looped around in front, making a heart with their hands, while a flustered Makoto was reaching forward and trying to slap Haru’s phone away.  
  
“Hey, I remember her,” Hiro said, pointing at Ann. “There were a good few months when she was here to see you, every day.”  
  
“That was a long time ago,” Shiho smiled.  
  
“So are you two still-” Hiro made a face, stopping himself. “...S-Sorry, that’s none of my business. ...Even if half the hospital was rooting for you guys.”  
  
“ _Hiro_ ,” Shiho shoved him, smiling despite everything. “Did you need something from me?”  
  
“Oh, yes, right,” Hiro cleared his throat. “Nurse Kaede reports incoming- adult female, multiple lacerations, severe blood loss. We gotta prep for a transfusion.”  
  
“Understood,” Shiho said. “I’ll be right out.”  
  
Hiro nodded, before darting away.  
  
Shiho smiled, taking one last, fond look at the picture on her phone.  
  
Soon. Soon, she’d be home, and they’d be waiting for her, and this hellish shift will be nothing but a memory. Ann, the sun in her sky. Makoto, the earth beneath her feet.  
  
If she had the two of them, she could handle anything.  
  
Shiho stepped out into the noise and chaos of the emergency room-  
  
-and stopped in her tracks, an island in a sea of motion.  
  
Shiho stumbled back, unsteady, like the ground had been yanked from beneath her feet. She reached behind her and braced herself on the counter so she wouldn’t fall.  
  
“No,” Shiho whispered, a plaintive breeze in a hurricane of shouted orders and blaring alarms.  
  
Hiro and Kaede rushed past, helping the EMT’s move Makoto’s limp, bloodied form off the stretcher and onto a bed. Akira and Ryuji were in the corner, their clothes stained with blood. Akira was speaking quietly with a male agent in a long coat and a violet armband, while Ryuji lingered nearby, casting nervous glances towards Makoto and the hospital staff.  
  
Then Shiho caught Ryuji’s eyes across the room, and the anguish in his expression tore her apart.  
  
Just like she promised, Shiho saw Makoto again.  
  
Tonight was going to be a long night.  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance** : 
> 
> "Makoto, what happened down there?"
> 
> "Have you heard from Ann? Is she safe?"
> 
> "Officer Niijima, if you could just answer a few questions-"
> 
> "Those monsters... We call them Shadows."
> 
> "I know."
> 
> "You _know_?"
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time, on **The Second Renaissance: All the World's a Stage**.


	3. All the World's a Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tokyo Blackout continues to scour the city, forcing the people of Tokyo face to face with their darkest impulses. But through the shadows of humanity’s heart, courage shines through- like a spotlight on a grand stage. Who will stand when the spotlight is upon them? Who will lurk in the shadows, watching from the wings?
> 
> The World is changing.
> 
> Let's survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"They are burning... already burning..."_

~*~  
  
Hifumi Togo did not hear the bells.  
  
She felt it, certainly. In her core, deep inside. But she wasn’t worried. She was in church, and she was in the middle of something, and she certainly wasn’t about to let that ripple of anxiety throw her off her game.  
  
“Check,” Father Eli said, and Hifumi scowled.  
  
Maybe she was a _little_ worried.  
  
Hifumi wasn’t the most religious person in the world. Sure, she came to the church in Kanda to seek peace of mind, but that was through friendly games of shogi with Father Eli, not through prayer and candlelight.  
  
“Are you alright, Hifumi?” Eli asked. “You seem distracted.”  
  
And she was, not least by Eli’s tone having just the faintest hint of arrogance to it, unfitting for a man of faith. Hifumi tapped her chin thoughtfully, studying the board.  
  
“Checkmate in three moves,” she mused. Eli blinked.  
  
“...You’re bluffing,” he said.  
  
“One…”  
  
A clatter of tiles.  
  
“...two…”  
  
A look of dismay.  
  
“...three,” Hifumi said, with a measured, modest smile. “Thank you for the game, Father.”  
  
“Always a pleasure,” Eli muttered, disappointed. He glanced over Hifumi’s shoulder and saw a huddled group shuffling inside. He nodded politely to her, before going to greet them.  
  
Hifumi exhaled, the church’s candlelight casting eerily long, thin shadows across the room.  
  
Under the right circumstances, the darkness could have been comforting. People don’t truly fear the dark. They fear the unknown. They fear that they’re being watched, hunted by something wearing the shadows like a cloak. They fear that they are alone, and vulnerable, with something that means them harm.  
  
Belief has power. Faith has power. Hifumi wasn’t the most devout person in the world, but she could see the power of belief at work, in every Tokyoite who wandered into the church. They come in, lost, afraid, troubled. They sit down and shrug off their coats. Some of them talk. Some of them pray. All of them wait- for the blackout to end, for train service to resume, for the chittering fear in their heads to settle into the calm quiet.  
  
Hifumi’s mind wandered, restless, to her friends- to three meetings, in particular, that drew her into an… interesting circle. Most recently, there was the discovery that a certain Makoto Niijima also attended her university. Before that, there was Futaba Sakura somehow tracking her down online, outing her as an avid MMO-player. And long before that, almost eight years ago, now, there was a chance meeting with Akira Kurusu, in this very church, on a rainy day.  
  
Hifumi hadn’t had many friends before then, preoccupied as she was with becoming a shogi master. Then, seemingly by chance, she had found herself drawn into that circle- and suddenly, she had more friends than she knew how to handle.  
  
She wondered what they were doing now.  
  
Hifumi sighed, resetting her shogi board, shoving down her restless thoughts with each clack of a tile back into its starting place. Life was so much simpler when she was studying a shogi board. She knew how every piece moved, and how the game was played.  
  
Out there, in the midst of the blackout, things weren’t quite so simple.  
  
Hifumi sat in her pew, restless, feeling the World moving, changing, both out on the street and here, beneath her skin.  
  
This, too, was a game. She could feel it.  
  
But who were the players?  
  
Who were the pawns?  
  
~*~  
  
Back at the Sakura household, things had gone dreadfully still. Futaba sat, stiff, her legs curled up against her chest. Tae had her back against the wall, a hand lingering inside her labcoat. In the moonless night, the only light came from Tae’s camp lantern sitting on the floor, the flicker of distant fires, and the frail glow of starlight high above. Shadows crept up the ceiling, eerily long and thin.  
  
The scratching at the door had stopped. Futaba and Tae held their breath in the tense quiet, Tae peering through the blinds. She exhaled, drawing her hand out of her coat.  
  
“I think they’re gone,” Tae whispered.  
  
She returned to the couch. Futaba clung to her without a moment’s hesitation. Tae smiled, fondly smoothing her hair against her scalp.  
  
Futaba fidgeted, her anxiety thrumming through her body. That restless energy pooled in her hands, so she pulled out her phone, and started flicking through photos. Tae caught glimpses of Akira, Ryuji, and a few more of Futaba’s friends she’d seen in passing. Futaba lingered on a picture of a girl Tae didn’t recognize- a cute little thing, with glasses and dark, curly hair.  
  
“You okay, kid?” Tae asked.  
  
Futaba looked up, the light of her phone glinting off her glasses. Her jaw was tight.  
  
“I’m scared,” she squeaked out.  
  
Tae pulled her close.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” Tae murmured, trailing a hand through Futaba’s hair. “Your brothers will be back soon, and they’ll bring back good news. We just have to wait a little longer. It’s the waiting that’s the hardest part.”  
  
~*~  
  
The hospital was one of the last lights in Tokyo, a beacon amidst the blackout. Its light, sterile and garish, could not have made a starker contrast with the ambient candlelight of Hifumi’s church. Still, the hospital had no shortage of people at prayer- frightened men and women bowing their heads or sitting at bedsides, clinging to a frail hope, one that flickered like a candle in a strong breeze.  
  
Akira sat with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees, looking for all the world like a man of faith. Ryuji was a gargoyle perched on the seat beside him, hunched over from tension and a lifetime of poor posture.  
  
Looming nearby was the agent who’d found them and Makoto down in Shibuya Station. Akira leered at him with a wary, stormy-gray eye, the unblinking eye on his badge staring back.  
  
An eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole.  
  
That badge didn’t belong to any organization Akira knew. Probably something stuffy and too important for proper nouns. ‘The Agency’. ‘The Company’. ‘The Bureau’.  
  
As for the agent- Wen, he had called himself- Akira was still deciding how he felt about him. Really, Akira couldn’t help but think his outfit was missing a lanyard and convention badge around his neck. He looked too young to be a government agent, scrawny, unimposing, and like he couldn’t grow a beard to save his life.  
  
He seemed harmless enough. But given Akira’s track record with the authorities, he’d need some more time before deciding if Agent Wen was a Shido, or a Sae.  
  
“Excuse me,” a nurse said. Her voice snapped Akira and Ryuji to their feet in an instant.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You came in with Officer Niijima?” Kaede asked. “...Please, come with me.”  
  
~*~  
  
Twenty minutes of furious activity left Makoto with an IV line running into her arm and the majority of her upper body wrapped in gauze. Hiro had washed and dressed the multitude of cuts to Makoto’s arms and torso, while Shiho had prepared the transfusion, replenishing the blood Makoto had left behind, running in rivulets across Shibuya Station’s tile floors.  
  
Hiro had studied Makoto’s wounds with a dreadful fascination. These weren’t the wounds of someone thrown through a windshield in a car accident, caught unprepared when all of Tokyo’s streetlights went dark. These were, unmistakably, claws.  
  
But what Hiro found even more dreadfully fascinating was the way Shiho had wept the whole time she was tending to Makoto, without once stopping her work or so much as making a sound.  
  
The only sound she made, from the moment Makoto came in to the moment Makoto had been stabilized, was the hitch in her breath when Kaede let Akira and Ryuji back into Makoto’s room, and Shiho had shouldered her way out without even looking up.  
  
“Shiho…?” Akira asked softly, plaintively, reaching out a hand. He felt a hand clap his shoulder.  
  
“I’ve got her,” Ryuji murmured, stepping past.  
  
“Multiple lacerations,” Kaede reported, her voice steady. “She lost a significant amount of blood. The IV is replenishing the loss. Two deep gashes, one under her ribs, one above her collarbone, that needed binding with medical glue. The rest are shallower cuts to her forearms- defensive wounds. Claw marks. What exactly was she fighting down there?”  
  
Akira flinched. Shibuya Station flashed across his eyes- a pile of wretched, shattered, inhuman bodies, lit by a hellish red light.  
  
“I don’t know,” Akira said. “I intend to find out. Can I talk to her?”  
  
Kaede nodded. She made for the door, glancing over her shoulder.  
  
“Be gentle with her. She’s weak.”  
  
_No_ , Akira thought, gazing at Makoto, limp and vulnerable in her hospital bed. _She’s stronger than any of us._ _  
_  
Kaede disappeared behind a curtain and hurried off to her next patient, leaving Akira and Makoto alone in a solemn quiet. While the rest of the ER raged just outside, the two of them shared an island of rare quiet- with peace rarer still.  
  
“Makoto,” Akira whispered urgently, sitting at her bedside. Makoto regarded him with a heavy-lidded eye.  
  
“Akira,” Makoto croaked, fighting for every syllable.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
“Like I could kiss you,” Makoto smiled drowsily. “...That might just be the painkillers.”  
  
Akira grinned. He snaked a hand down her arm, careful not to touch any of the multitude of bandages, and slipped his hand into hers with a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“Where’s Shiho?” Makoto asked.  
  
“Working,” Akira replied.  
  
“She’s going to work herself to death,” Makoto murmured. She tried to sit up, hissing in pain as her arms burned in protest. She exhaled. “Can you- Can you check on her? She’s scared. She was crying. Could you-”  
  
“Let’s worry about you, first.” Akira said gently. “I’m nothing without my number two.”  
  
“You’ll have to be,” Makoto said, lifting a bandaged arm, “while I’m… tied up.”  
  
Akira grinned, but it was short lived. The weight of Makoto’s words, and of her hand in his, stole what precious levity he had left.  
  
“Akira,” Makoto said, with a quiet urgency, racing to get the words out before her meds dragged her into unconsciousness. “Listen to me, Akira. There’s something… wrong… with the city. There’s something happening, beneath the surface- something terrible. And it’s only going to get worse. Promise me, Akira. I-I need you, to- to promise me that you’ll keep it together- that you’ll keep us together. All of us…”  
  
Akira hesitated. “...Makoto-”  
  
Makoto sat up sharply, her eyes flashing with conviction and something darker, something wild.  
  
“Promise me!” Makoto hissed in desperation, squeezing Akira’s hand until her knuckles were white.  
  
“Makoto...”  
  
Akira whispered, breathless. Makoto’s eyes flickered, unsteady, flashing between holding Akira’s gaze and staring through him, beyond him, at something worlds away.  
  
“Makoto,” Akira echoed, his fingers going numb in Makoto’s grip, gazing into her unfocused eyes. “What… _happened_ down there…?”  
  
~*~  
  
Shiho marched back to the nurse’s station without so much as a ‘hello’. Ryuji followed at her heels, a puppy unable to take a hint.  
  
“Shiho,” Ryuji pressed. “Are you okay?”  
  
Shiho flipped through a stack of papers on her desk.  
  
“Have you heard from Ann?” She asked, not looking up. “Is she safe?”  
  
Ryuji exhaled. There was a cold, brittle edge to Shiho’s voice that he’d never heard before.  
  
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t know.”  
  
Shiho slapped the stack of papers flat onto the counter.  
  
“Don’t talk to me, Ryuji,” Shiho snapped. “I’m busy.”  
  
Ryuji followed Shiho down the hall, sidestepping a pair of EMTs pulling a patient in on a stretcher. Shiho ducked into a supply closet and came back out with an armful of gauze packs. She handed them off to an orderly in red scrubs, snapping out instructions. They hurried away.  
  
“Shiho, come on…” Ryuji pleaded.  
  
“I have _work_ to do, Ryuji.”  
  
“Shiho-”  
  
Shiho froze, Ryuji’s hand around her arm, rigid with tension.  
  
“...An inch,” Shiho said, her jaw tight.  
  
Ryuji blinked. He looked down, following the line of his arm to his hand closed around Shiho’s bicep. He let her go with a start, taking a step back.  
  
“S-Sorry,” Ryuji said. “I just wanted to-”  
  
Shiho whirled around, and Ryuji flinched, thinking she was going to hit him. She pressed two fingers to the side of Ryuji’s neck.  
  
“This is a carotid artery,” Shiho said through gritted teeth. “You have two of them. Here, and here. Together, they’re responsible for 90 percent of the blood going to your brain. If you compress them- that means if you _squeeze_ them, Ryuji- then that means no blood is going to your brain. You’ll pass out inside thirty seconds. They’re _important_ , Ryuji.”  
  
“Now _here_ -” Shiho said, moving her fingers an inch to the left, her voice trembling. “- _here_ is where some creep took a fucking _bite_ out of Makoto’s collarbone. _If_ that bite had torn out Makoto’s carotid artery- if it had been _one inch_ to the right- then Makoto would have bled out in _seven seconds_!”  
  
Ryuji squeaked in pain as Shiho’s fingers jabbed into his neck.  
  
“It was _this close_ , Ryuji!” Shiho shrieked. “If that bite had been an inch closer to her neck, Makoto would have _died_ , so I’m _sorry_ if I _don’t_ want to talk right now!”  
  
Ryuji stepped back. He swallowed hard.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Shiho, I’m sorry. I just- I just want to help.”  
  
Shiho barked out a bitter laugh.  
  
“Look around you! Makoto’s hurt. Bad. I’ve spent the last six hours dealing with shootings, stabbings, car accidents, animal attacks! Ann’s somewhere out in the middle of that, and I can’t go looking for her, because we’re here up to our ears in patients and don’t have half the staff we need to cope. You want to help?! Either put on some gloves and help me work, or get out of my face, get out of this hospital, and don’t come back until you can look me in the eyes and tell me Ann is okay!”  
  
Shiho huffed in frustration and stormed off, leaving Ryuji staring in her wake. A few moments later, she found herself leaning over the side of a patient’s bed, gripping the rail until her fingers shook. She took a deep breath and sighed, fighting down the chaos in her chest.  
  
“Nurse Suzui,” said an orderly, rushing past. “Nurse Kaede needs-”  
  
“I know,” Shiho said, her voice ragged. She trailed a hand through her hair. “I know. Just… give me a minute.”  
  
Shiho exhaled, trying to wrestle her thoughts into something coherent.  
  
There were new patients coming in, but Shiho didn’t care. She should have cared. It was her job to care. But there was nowhere to put them. And the only patient she could think about-  
  
_Focus, Shiho_ , she chided herself. _You can do this. Be strong._  
  
Shiho took a deep breath. Just make a list. Just tackle one thing at a time. Shiho reached into the morass of her thoughts and tried to pull out something practical, something useful. But there was still so much-  
  
Shiho felt someone beside her. She took a ragged, exhausted breath. She turned.  
  
Shiho gasped, and felt her eyes prickle with tears.  
  
“I’m here,” Ryuji said gently, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “What can I do?”  
  
~*~  
  
Makoto told Akira everything- about the attack down in Shibuya Station, about how what she thought was an ordinary street fight against some gangsters became a fight for her life, about how her opponents had transformed into creatures Makoto swore had been Shadows. For all the intensity of Makoto’s desire to relay this information, her actual recollection of the attack was told in a flat, matter-of-fact monotone.  
  
Akira knew that voice, and he knew the dull, shadowed look that came over Makoto’s eyes. It was the way Haru got when she spoke about her ex-fiancee, or how Ann or Shiho spoke about Kamoshida. Even Ryuji got like that, on the rare occasions he spoke about the day he broke his leg- furious and seething about everything that happened after, but oddly dazed and distant when mentioning the incident itself.  
  
But through Akira’s warring swells of sympathy and outrage, one bit of curiosity shone through. Because on that platform in Shibuya Station, surrounded by Shadows and crimson light like the second coming of Mementos, Makoto made her stand. She fought Shadows- and she won, a familiar power manifesting around her fists in curls of azure flame.  
  
What did this mean for the city?  
  
What the hell was happening out there?  
  
Akira wasn’t the only one wondering. He heard a rustle of the curtain being pulled back, and Akira shot a wary glance over his shoulder at Agent Wen, looming in the doorway.  
  
“Excuse me,” he cleared his throat. “Officer Niijima, if you could just answer a few questions-”  
  
“She’s hurt,” Akira said, immediately annoyed with himself for snapping. He sighed. “...Can’t this wait?”  
  
“It’s okay,” Makoto said softly. She squeezed Akira’s hand.  
  
Akira made a face, but said nothing. He stood, letting Wen take his place at Makoto’s bedside.  
  
“Akira,” Makoto called.  
  
He turned, meeting Makoto’s eyes.  
  
“Where’s Ann?” Makoto asked, her voice suddenly very small. “Is… Is she safe?”  
  
Akira exhaled. He pulled his eyes away, staring down at the floor.  
  
“...I don’t know.”  
  
Akira stepped out, and slid the curtain closed behind him. He took a deep breath and sighed, running a hand through his hair. The ER bustled around him, EMTs and hospital staff running every which way.  
  
Ryuji was down the hall, hauling an armful of medical supplies while an orderly in red scrubs gave him instructions.  
  
Akira looked up sharply. A thought stuck out in the fog of his thoughts, like a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. He’d almost forgotten.  
  
He gently caught Kaede by the shoulder as she went past.  
  
“Excuse me,” Akira said, nodding to the nurse’s station. “Could I use your phone?”  
  
~*~  
  
_“Your call could not be completed. Please try again later.”_ _  
__  
_ Sae sighed, pulling her phone away from her ear. She glowered at the lack of bars in the corner of her phone screen.  
  
No power meant no cell service. Typical. Annoying, if not surprising.  
  
She flicked away her failed call to Makoto, gaze lingering on her phone background. It was a photo of Makoto on the day she first earned her uniform. She was laughing at something Takamaki had said, off camera. At the time, Sae had insisted on retaking the photo, of getting a shot of Makoto formally saluting the camera. It was perfect- the very picture of the young professional.  
  
That was the photo Sae had framed and kept on her desk at home. But it was the other photo, of Makoto laughing and at ease, that Sae took with her everywhere she went.  
  
Sae Niijima didn’t consider herself the sentimental sort. But Makoto was her only family left. She loved her, and, though she was loathe to admit it in such blunt terms, she missed her. Gone were the days of seeing Makoto every night after a long day at work.  
  
Work seemed determined to keep them apart. She’d managed to meet Makoto for coffee and a quiche this morning, but that was the first time their schedules had lined up in months.  
  
Then again, Sae supposed, Makoto was a police officer- and before that, a college student with a double major- and before that, a high school valedictorian. Long hours and packed schedules came with the territory. It was annoying, but not surprising. It wasn’t unlike another woman Sae knew, whom she was growing quite fond of.  
  
What _had_ been surprising was this blackout. Sae was trying to get some work done when it struck, plunging the courthouse into darkness and Sae into the garish, luminescent glare of her laptop screen.  
  
Now, Sae was sitting on the courthouse steps, her briefcase beside her, contemplating how far she’d have to walk home now that the streets were packed with abandoned cars, and thoroughly regretting today’s choice of two-inch pumps. At least it was a wedge.  
  
“Those are some nice shoes,” said a voice beside her.  
  
Sae looked up and saw a man, a vague outline in the dark.  
  
“Thank you,” Sae said, her lips curling into a frown. “That’s a nice… knife.”  
  
“It sure is,” he flashed her a toothy grin. “You know what this is, lady. I’ll take your briefcase, your purse, and that nice shiny watch.”  
  
Sae sighed. Armed robbery during a blackout. She was annoyed. But she wasn’t surprised.  
  
Sae wordlessly pulled off her heels and set them aside. She stood, looming over the man even without the extra height. His eyes flicked between Sae and her shoes, beside her on the steps.  
  
“Well, shit, if you want, I’ll take those, too-”  
  
Sae kicked him down the steps.  
  
He landed flat on his back and slid a few steps before rolling the rest of the way down. He hit the base of the stairs with a thud, grunting curses every inch of the way, landing in an undignified heap. He pulled himself to his feet, his wounded ego stinging more than his limbs.  
  
“Uppity little bitch…!” He snarled. He brandished his knife and charged back up the steps.  
  
A shadow swooped past and hurled him off his feet. In a moment, the mugger had his cheek against the pavement, a well-dressed blonde above him, her knee between his shoulder blades and his knife-arm extended painfully behind his back.  
  
“Drop it,” she said tonelessly. He shouted back some incoherent curse, before crying out in pain as she leveraged his arm further back.  
  
“Lose your knife, or lose your arm,” she warned.  
  
His knife clattered against the pavement.  
  
She stood, easing him out of her hold. He yanked his arm out of her grip, clutching an aching shoulder. He stared at them.  
  
“You may flee, now,” the blonde said.  
  
The mugger spat a curse and vanished into the night.  
  
The blonde turned. Sae finished slipping her shoes back on and met her eerie, piercing gaze. The other woman closed her eyes and bowed at the waist.  
  
“Niijima-san,” she intoned.  
  
“Agent,” Sae returned, warm- by Sae’s standards, at any rate. “I thank you for not shooting him.”  
  
“I was not permitted the use of heavy weapons for this mission,” the agent said, with the faintest hint of a smile to her voice. “My close combat systems were deemed sufficient.”  
  
“No one likes a braggart, Agent,” Sae teased. “She sent you, I take it?”  
  
“Yes,” she nodded. “I have been instructed to escort you to safety.”  
  
“Very well,” Sae said. “Lead the way.”  
  
The agent turned and ushered Sae out into the dark, her coat-tails flaring out behind.  
  
~*~  
  
Back at the Sakura household, the night was dragging on and on. The tension in the air made every moment feel like forever. Futaba curled up in the crook of Tae’s arm, fighting the urge to jump at every sound, at every shadow that flashed across the ceiling. Just moments ago, she had almost screamed at an unfamiliar sound, only for it to simply be the creak of Sojiro coming down the steps. Just like she’d thought, he wasn’t able to sleep without knowing if Akira and Ryuji were okay.  
  
Sojiro lingered in the front hall, near Wakaba’s shrine. He was miming the act of smoking, because all this waiting was stressing him out and he wouldn’t risk actually stepping outside to have a cigarette while there were vandals and who knew what else running around. Not helping matters was Futaba’s anxious muttering drifting in from the living room.  
  
Futaba was talking to herself as she stared down at her phone, texting just so the restless energy in her fingers had somewhere to go. She was typing her stream of thought into a string of texts, going unsent due to lack of service. Kana was going to be getting a baffling pile of texts in the morning, as soon as Futaba and the rest of the city got their cell service back.  
  
“Did you hear that?” Futaba murmured.  
  
“Shh,” Tae cooed. “It’s just your dad.”  
  
“I swore I heard something,” Futaba whispered.  
  
All three of them jumped at a sudden, piercing noise- only for it to be the phone ringing. Sojiro grumbled and went to answer it, while Futaba cackled in embarrassment and relief.  
  
Sojiro set down the receiver with a sigh.  
  
“It was your brother,” Sojiro said. “He and Ryuji are at the hospital.”  
  
“They’re _what_?” Futaba snapped, all her tension returning in an instant.  
  
“They went looking for Ann,” Sojiro explained. “They found Makoto, instead. Makoto’s hurt- she was in some sort of fight. Gang members. They brought her to the hospital. They’re with Shiho now. No word on when they’ll be back.”  
  
“At least they’re inside,” Tae said, squeezing Futaba gently. “Better the hospital than the streets.”  
  
“I guess,” Futaba murmured.  
  
Futaba suddenly jolted upright, anxiety thrumming in her veins.  
  
“...Did you hear that?” She hissed, urgent.  
  
Tae and Sojiro exchanged glances.  
  
“It was nothing,” Sojiro shrugged.  
  
“It was _something_ ,” Futaba insisted. “Can you check? Is there someone at the door?”  
  
Sojiro exhaled, humoring his daughter. He took a look through the peephole.  
  
“No,” he said.  
  
The living room window exploded.  
  
~*~  
  
The bottle smashed through the floor-length glass, sending a web of fractures across the pane. The sheet broke apart and crashed onto the floor in a number of uneven shards, a gloved hand pushing out the last few pieces still caught in the frame.  
  
Shadows flitted in through the gap. They emerged, their arms laden with their bounty, fleeing into the night.  
  
Ann watched them flee, her lips curling into a snarl. Maybe it was her own rebel spirit, or maybe it was more than a decade of Ryuji Sakamoto being her best friend, but Ann didn’t run from danger- she ran right into it, her head held high. And if it wasn’t for Rose’s hand around her shoulder, pushing her back against the wall, that’s right where she would be.  
  
“Those bastards,” Ann seethed, balling her fists. “That’s one of my favorite bakeries!”  
  
Rose blinked, before squeezing Ann’s shoulder. “I, uh, I appreciate your enthusiasm here, but don’t go trying to be a hero.”  
  
Ann relented. She took a deep breath and sighed, meeting Rose’s eyes. Her smile was bright, even in the dark.  
  
“It’s strange to hear that from _you_ , senpai.”  
  
Rose rolled her eyes, smiling. “I’m no hero. I just play one on TV.”  
  
Rose’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Ann gave her an odd look, before pulling out her own phone and leering at her lack of reception.  
  
“How come _your_ phone works?” Ann asked, more petulantly than she intended.  
  
“It’s special,” Rose grinned. She stepped away to take her call.  
  
Ann pouted. She didn’t want to whine, especially not around her senpai. But every time she checked her phone, she had to see Makoto and Shiho smiling back at her, and the ‘no service’ icon mocking her from the top of the screen.  
  
Not helping her mood was that she’d overslept and missed giving Makoto a kiss at the door- again. Ann didn’t know how many times she had to remind them, she loved them even more than she loved sleeping in. She wouldn’t mind waking up, if it meant waking up to her girlfriends- even if it meant waking up before ten.  
  
She wondered where they were now.  
  
“Okay!” Rose announced, tucking her phone back in her pocket. “Ready, Ann? We’re getting out of this mess.”  
  
“What, did you call a taxi?”  
  
“Better,” Rose said. “I called some friends.”  
  
Two silhouettes appeared down the alleyway. Ann bristled, ready for a fight- but then Rose raised an arm and gave them a friendly wave.  
  
They stepped forward into what little light remained on the streets- two agents, in long, dark coats and violet armbands, both wearing a badge of an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole. One was a meek, middle-aged man with glasses, looking uncomfortable in his uniform- more like a math teacher than a government agent. The other was a younger woman, short, chubby, and chipper, with dark, sun-kissed skin.  
  
The man regarded Rose with a polite, professional nod, whereas the woman seemed just short of wrapping Rose in a hug before realizing she had company.  
  
“Never fear!” She waved, smiling bright. “Your armed escort is here!”  
  
“Hey, Caryn,” Rose smiled. She nodded to the other agent. “Mr. Lam. This is Ann Takamaki, my, er, co-star.”  
  
Caryn giggled. “Is _that_ what they call it?”  
  
Rose playfully swatted her away.  
  
“Ma’am,” Lam began. “We’ve been sent to escort you to safety. The Director expresses her regret that she could not send a limo.”  
  
“She owes me,” Rose grinned. “Lead the way.”  
  
Agent Lam ushered them down the street, Caryn trailing behind to cover their backs. Ann and Rose walked between them, Rose acting like she was strolling through Harajuku with shopping bags on her arms rather than a VIP being escorted by armed government agents.  
  
Ann, meanwhile, didn’t quite know what to make of it. Her eyes flitted between Agent Lam, ahead of them, stiff and awkward, to Caryn, behind, merrily whistling a tune.  
  
“You have… _interesting_ friends, senpai,” Ann muttered.  
  
“Oh, please,” Rose flashed her a winning smile. “Wait ‘til you meet my ex.”  
  
~*~  
  
Shiho gasped when the door swung open.  
  
“S-Sorry,” Akira winced, reaching for the shelf behind her. “I just needed some gauze…”  
  
Shiho nodded, and stepped aside. She swiped her sleeve across her eyes. Akira looked at her, working his jaw, as if wondering what to say.  
  
“Long night?” He asked, lamely.  
  
Shiho took a shuddering breath. “...Yeah.”  
  
“I’ve, uh…” Akira pushed his glasses up on his nose. “...I’ve been looking for you, y’know. Makoto’s been looking for you. She wants to see you.”  
  
Shiho sniffed. “I can’t,” she said, her jaw tight.  
  
“Shiho.” Akira said, as gently as he could. “I know it must be difficult to see her like this-”  
  
“No, no,” Shiho cut in. “I- I _can’t_. I have so much to do. I have new patients to process, and I don’t have room for them all. They need me to route our less-critical cases to neighboring wards just to free up some beds. Kaede needs me to order tests, room 3 needs a surgical consult-”  
  
“Shiho,” Akira said softly. “What do _you_ need?”  
  
Shiho stared at him, meeting Akira’s stormy-gray eyes. She took a shaky breath.  
  
“...I need to be with my girlfriend,” she admitted.  
  
Akira nodded. He squeezed her hands.  
  
“Then let’s go.”  
  
~*~  
  
Sojiro’s living room window caved in with a shriek of shattering glass. A ghoul, long-limbed and with skin pale as death, gazed into the house, its eyes beady and dark. It opened its once-human mouth, now filled with fangs, and shrieked.  
  
Tae shot it in the face.  
  
She stood, clutching Futaba to her chest with one arm, her lips pressed into a line. She fired again, and again, bursting both of its eyes in their sockets, only stopping when her pistol was dry and the ghoul’s skull was a smoking ruin.  
  
Sojiro stared at the corpse draped across the windowsill. He swallowed hard.  
  
“What the _hell_ is that?!” He gawked.  
  
“A-A zombie!” Futaba wailed.  
  
“It’s dead, now,” Tae said coldly. She ejected her pistol’s empty magazine, caught it neatly in her other hand, and then started rummaging through her coat pockets for a fresh one.  
  
Then the ghoul lifted its head once again, a ghastly red light burning where its eyes should have been.  
  
“Doc!” Sojiro shouted in alarm.  
  
The ghoul burst through the window, leaping with an inhuman strength. It smashed Tae to the floor, slamming the air out of her lungs. A filthy hand pinned her arm to the floor, the other grabbing her forehead and shoving her down. The ghoul shrieked at her, baring its wretched, fanged maw.  
  
Tae choked out a defiant curse.  
  
The ghoul’s jaws snapped down around her neck.  
  
“ _Tae!_ ” Futaba screamed.  
  
The ghoul lifted its head, fixing her with its empty, burning gaze. It coiled its legs beneath it, and pounced.  
  
Sojiro’s fist collided with its jaw and smashed it aside, hurling it over the back of the couch.  
  
“Futaba!” he cried. But then the ghoul was upon him, too.  
  
It leaped onto Sojiro and clamped its legs around his chest, raking its clawed hands across Sojiro’s shoulders, arms, his face. He staggered back, stumbling over the coffee table. They hit the ground, tumbling.  
  
“Dad!” Futaba shrieked, her body surging with a wretched fear.  
  
Sojiro grunted in pain as a claw left bloody lines across his face and slapped his glasses away. He hunted for Futaba’s form in the dark, his vision blurring.  
  
“Run, Futaba!” he cried. The ghoul shrieked in his face.  
  
In that one, desperate moment, Futaba scanned the room, searching for an answer.  
  
What she found was a curl of azure flame, that, for a moment, looked like a butterfly.  
  
All the fear and adrenaline surging through Futaba’s limbs found itself transformed into a sudden, serene clarity. She was burning, burning with an aura of blue fire, burning with conviction, with purpose.  
  
Futaba did not run.  
  
She dropped to her hands and knees, retrieving Tae’s fallen pistol. She reached into Tae’s labcoat and found the right pocket- first try. She rose to one knee in one smooth motion. She slid the magazine into place, toggled off the safety, and pulled back the hammer.  
  
Blue light flickered across the inside of her glasses, forming a crosshair over the ghoul’s heart.  
  
Futaba took the shot.  
  
The ghoul’s torso exploded, a six-inch hole through its chest smouldering with azure flame.  
  
Sojiro shoved the corpse aside, Futaba’s name an urgent whisper on his lips. He groped across the floor, blind, setting his glasses back on his nose. He blinked up through the cracked lenses, not quite believing what he saw.  
  
In the corner, Tae gasped in pain, clutching at her throat. She wheezed, pulling her ruined, studded leather choker away from her neck. Beneath it was an ugly bruise- but the bite didn’t break the skin.  
  
“Great,” Tae wheezed, rubbing her neck. “That was my favorite necklace…”  
  
She looked up, staring.  
  
“Um,” Tae swallowed. “Bug? You okay?”  
  
Futaba stood, haloed by a burning aura of azure light, Tae’s pistol still braced in a two-handed grip. Its weight felt strange and unfamiliar in her hands.  
  
It finally occurred to Futaba that, up until a moment ago, she hadn’t known how to load, aim, or fire a gun.  
  
“Futaba?” Sojiro wondered.  
  
The room howled with an otherworldly wind, and Futaba’s aura of blue fire abruptly vanished. She swayed on her feet, dizzy, Tae’s pistol dropping from her fingers. She fell.  
  
Sojiro caught her in his arms and held her close, determined never to let her go.  
  
~*~  
  
Shiho left it too long.  
  
After barely keeping herself awake through her talk with Akira, and then Agent Wen, Makoto finally succumbed to her painkillers, and fell into a deep sleep.  
  
Shiho couldn’t look at the multitude of wounds across Makoto’s arms and chest for any longer than she absolutely had to. So, instead, she studied Makoto’s face, tranquil in slumber, fighting away the horrid realization that Makoto looked like she was laid out for burial.  
  
Shiho gasped and took Makoto’s hand, relieved to find it soft and warm instead of frozen in death. She took a shuddering breath, bowing her head as if in prayer.  
  
“Hey, Mako,” Shiho said, forcing a smile. “It’s me.”  
  
Few people noticed, sheltered as they were behind the curtain in Makoto’s room. But in that moment, Shiho feeling Makoto’s pulse in her fingers, holding her life in her hands…  
  
In that moment, Shiho began to burn, with a gentle, azure flame.  
  
~*~  
  
“The Great Fire is coming!” declared a man in a red robe. “It shall set us all alight!”  
  
“Clear the road!” Agent Lam shouted, but the crowd and the minister paid him no heed.  
  
“Pledge yourselves to the Fire!” he preached to the crowd of red hoods before him. “Until your souls sleep, and your bodies burn!”  
  
“It’s no use,” Rose muttered. “Let’s just go around.”  
  
Ann sighed. They had been making good time through the city, considering they were on foot. But now they’d hit a roadblock- some nutjob standing on top of a car preaching to a crowd in red hoods. They stretched across the whole street, haloed by the flickering light of garbage fires in steel trash cans. The firelight was a welcome change from the darkened streets, but there was something strange about the light. The shadows of the cult, cast across the pavement, scarcely looked human at all.  
  
Ann froze. The preacher, moments ago content to proselytize to his followers without paying their group a second glance, was now staring right at them- no, at _her_.  
  
“Firebrand,” he said, his eyes glinting strangely in the light, “I hear you.”  
  
“Firebrand,” his crowd echoed as one. “We obey.”  
  
A sudden, strong wind passed over the congregation. They turned their heads to the sky, reaching out, grasping in exultation. To a man, they shuddered and died, bursting into red and black, until the street became an oozing, festering pit of blood and tar.  
  
“No,” Rose grit her teeth. “This can’t be happening…”  
  
“ _I’ll_ say!” Ann agreed.  
  
Rose checked her phone- not even midnight.  
  
“It’s too early,” she said.  
  
“Wait, _that’s_ your problem?” Ann balked.  
  
Hands began to climb out of the ooze. Some were the fleshy, clawed hands of ghouls. Others were faceless tangles of limbs, arms made of black ink.  
  
They were cornered, their backs to a locked storefront. Lam and Caryn drew their weapons- strange pistols that crackled with electricity. Rose kept a hand against Ann’s shoulder, pressing her back against the wall.  
  
“Stay behind me,” Rose said. “I’ll keep you safe.”  
  
“Thanks for looking out for me, senpai,” Ann said.  
  
“That’s what I’m here for,” Rose smiled, through gritted teeth, as the crowd of ghouls and grasping hands started closing in. “...Under the circumstances, though? You don’t have to be so formal. We’re friends, right?”  
  
“Takeba-san, then?”  
  
“Yukari.”  
  
Yukari smiled and squeezed Ann’s shoulder, before turning and facing the approaching mob. With every step, tongues of blue flame curled around her boots and spiraled up her form, haloing her in azure light. She raised her bow, something Ann had been so sure was a prop, and curled her fingers around the string.  
  
An arrow of shining green light appeared between her fingers.  
  
“Those monsters...” Yukari said, taking aim, echoing a moment on a dorm rooftop, half a lifetime ago. “...we call them Shadows.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You _know_?”  
  
Ann took her place at Yukari’s side, her sleeves and long skirt billowing in the otherworldly breeze. She, too, was haloed in azure flame, though the fire at her fingertips was a vivid red.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Ann teased, seeing the way Yukari was staring. “Didn’t want to share the spotlight?”  
  
How fitting that they were still in costume- the hero and the witch. Questions raced through Yukari’s head- questions that could wait. For now, Yukari grinned.  
  
“...Let’s give them a show.”  
  
The crowd bore down on them, shrieking animal wails through once-human mouths. And beneath them all, a voice, like the chittering of locusts, or a tremor in the earth.  
  
_Until my soul sleeps_ , came the rolling thunder, _and my body burns._  
  
“Now burn,” Ann and Yukari said together, and the street exploded into windswept flames.  
  
Ann’s crimson fire swept just ahead, a wave of scorching heat and rending flame. Yukari’s arrow came just an instant later, igniting the firestorm into an enormous, blinding blaze.  
  
In that moment, the people of Tokyo lifted their heads at the flash of brilliant fire that lit up the night. They gazed skyward, like the first people on earth to ever look up at the stars and imagine some divinity gazing back.  
  
Belief has power. Faith has power. And love is an act of faith- for a parent, for a partner, or even for a friend.  
  
Like Futaba at home, and like Shiho at Makoto’s bedside…  
  
In the darkness of the Tokyo blackout, Ann made her own light.  
  
~*~  
  
Shiho spoke to Makoto’s slumbering form as if she could hear, laying out her fears, her frustrations, and her simple, raw desires.  
  
She wished she was strong, like Makoto. If their positions had been reversed, and she had been the one fighting off demons with her bare hands… she never would have survived. Makoto was so strong, and yet here she was, spending stolen moments between patients crying in a supply closet, just wishing her shift would end.  
  
She wished her shift was over. She wished she could go home. She wished she had enough beds for all the patients still streaming in. She wished she could keep even half of them alive. She wished she knew where Ann was, if she was safe, if she missed her as much as she did.  
  
She wished Makoto was awake, healthy, and whole, instead of passed out from painkillers in a hospital bed.  
  
And, because Shiho’s eyes were closed as she clutched Makoto’s hand and laid these confessions at her feet, she didn’t see her aura of azure flame change from soothing blue to healing green.  
  
But she felt it, on her skin, and in her hands, when the warmth and strength returned to Makoto’s fingertips. She heard it, in Makoto’s gasp of surprise as she blinked herself awake.  
  
A gentle breeze passed through the room, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and spring. The wind lifted Makoto’s bandages and blew them away, revealing unbroken skin beneath- sealed and shimmering, without so much as a scar.  
  
Shiho watched, in awe, her aura of blue fire fading away.  
  
“Shiho,” Makoto breathed, her vivid red eyes so much brighter than before.  
  
Shiho kissed her, and Makoto kissed her back, clutching a fistful of Shiho’s hair. They broke apart with a gasp, Shiho leaning in and pressing their foreheads together, not caring that she was awkwardly leaning over Makoto’s bed, not caring if the whole hospital saw them together.  
  
“Shiho,” Makoto murmured, breathless, touching their noses together. “How…?”  
  
“I-I don’t know!” Shiho gasped, giddy. “...Hold on…”  
  
Shiho broke away, rushing off to fetch Akira and Ryuji and tell them the good news. They were ecstatic, and rowdy as always. Ryuji practically jumped into bed with Makoto to give her a hug, Makoto squeaking and fumbling with her blanket when she abruptly realized she was naked. Akira laughed with relief, resting a hand in Makoto’s hair.  
  
It was bright, and it was warm, and it was exactly what this night needed.  
  
Then a gloved hand threw the curtain open, and they had agents on every side.  
  
“Officer Niijima,” Agent Wen said gravely, while his fellow agents stood by, their hands on their holsters. “Nurse Suzui. Ryuji Sakamoto. Akira Kurusu.”  
  
He raised his badge- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole.  
  
“I need the four of you to listen _very_ carefully…”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance** :
> 
> "People of Tokyo, we now face a crisis..."
> 
> "Mr. Kurusu. We would like to make a deal."
> 
> "I'm not doing anything until I know my family is safe."
> 
> "For we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers..."
> 
> "This Ordeal is truly an unjust game."
> 
> "Welcome to the Tokyo Diet, ladies and gentlemen. I believe I owe you all an explanation."
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time, on **The Second Renaissance: Into the Light**.


	4. Into The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The perilous first night of the Tokyo Blackout draws to a close, bundled away in the custody of a shadowy organization. The former Phantom Thieves take a much-needed moment to rest and regroup, while the rest of Tokyo enters a fitful slumber. 
> 
> Daybreak is coming, and with it, answers. 
> 
> The World is changing. 
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _My brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his will._  
>  _Don the armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the Devil._  
>  _For we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers,_  
>  _Against rulers of darkness and spiritual wickedness in high places._  
>  _Take unto you the armor of faith, that you may withstand the evil day._  
>  \- Ephesians 6:10-13

~*~  
  
Hifumi didn’t much care for light.  
  
It hurt her eyes. She didn’t mention it often, since a professional shogi master was supposed to be above such trifling concerns. But perhaps that was why she was drawn so much to this church, seeking, perhaps not salvation, but peace, quiet, and the ambient dark.  
  
It made Hifumi wonder about the people trudging through the doors, drawn to this place like moths to a flame. What was it that brought them here? What was it they were looking to find? Was it as simple as sturdy walls and a roof over their head? Or was it faith?  
  
Hifumi sighed, and frowned. This blackout was giving her too much time for her mind to wander. She was thinking in circles- pacing, as well, her body thrumming with a restless energy that the clack of tiles on her shogi board could no longer contain.  
  
A hand closed on her shoulder. Hifumi jumped.  
  
“I think you should try to get some rest,” Eli said.  
  
“I’m sorry, Father.” Hifumi smiled thinly. “That seems unlikely.”  
  
“In that case,” Eli continued, “would you mind giving me a hand?”  
  
Hifumi followed Eli into an annex adjoining the church, watching him pull bundles of blankets down from shelves, stacking them on a wheeled handcart. Some time later, Hifumi had resumed her pacing- not in circles around the altar, but down the main aisle, passing out blankets to the shadows huddled throughout the church, murmuring anxiously in the feeble candlelight.  
  
“Some of these people are here because they choose to,” Eli said, as they made their way through the pews. “Some, because they have nowhere else to go. Surely, the reason we’re so lively today is because many of these people are stranded. They’re waiting for the train service to resume, or for the streets to be a little safer before braving the walk home. But regardless of the reason, while they are here, they are in my care.”  
  
Hifumi stepped carefully around a homeless woman dozing off on the floor. She took a blanket off the cart and tucked it around the woman’s sleeping form.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Eli asked. “Any better?”  
  
Hifumi considered that. True, her thoughts still felt like a tuft of steel wool scraping out the inside of her skull. But it did feel good to be doing something with her hands.  
  
“A little,” Hifumi said. “I just feel…”  
  
“Restless?” Eli offered.  
  
Hifumi took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“...Useless,” Hifumi muttered. “I’ve spent years of my life devoting myself to mastering a game. But now we’re in the middle of this blackout, and that skill counts for nothing. I have nothing to contribute. Nothing to give.”  
  
Eli laid a hand on Hifumi’s shoulder.  
  
“Even a man who has nothing can still have faith.”  
  
Hifumi looked away. Eli moved on, pushing his little handcart back up the aisle, while she stood there, by the doors, losing herself in her wandering thoughts.  
  
What does it mean to have faith? What does it mean to believe?  
  
A moth is drawn, inextricably, to a flame. It follows the light, even if touching the flame itself will mean its own death. Is that the nature of faith? Letting something drive you, keep you moving forward, even if it kills you? Even if you never truly understand why?  
  
A tremor shot through the ground and abruptly ripped Hifumi out of her thoughts. There was a tremendous bang, like thunder directly overhead, followed by a huge, whooshing roar.  
  
A tidal wave of ugly fear rippled through the crowd.  
  
“What the hell was that?” someone shuddered.  
  
“An explosion!”  
  
“Are we under attack?”  
  
Hifumi met Eli’s eyes in the dark, fear glinting in their eyes. She turned, pushing open the church’s heavy wooden doors and peering out onto the streets. Her heart pounded in her chest.  
  
Fire bloomed in the distance, rising above the rooftops, in a spiraling hurricane of roiling fire and blinding light.  
  
Hifumi wasn’t the most religious person in the world. Yet she stood there, transfixed, staring at the second sun rising over Tokyo like a moth drawn to a flame.  
  
~*~  
  
_“Retrieval teams, check in.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hound One reporting. Targets secured, en route to Bunker now.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hammer reportin’. Still en route to target.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Shield reporting. Target secured, returning to Bunker.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Acknowledged. Shepherd?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Shepherd, what is your status?”_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
“We’re a little busy!”  
  
Agent Caryn Sabangan called into her comm, giddy with nerves. She sidestepped a charging ghoul, firing a round into the small of its back. It seized up, shivering with blue lightning, before an arrow of shining green light pierced its torso and blew it apart in a gust of wind.  
  
Yukari gave Caryn a friendly, reassuring smile, before turning to her next target. She raised her bow, curling her fingers as if nocking an arrow. A shaft of shining green light obligingly formed between her fingers.  
  
The street was ablaze with magical fire, newly paved with the obliterated remains of dozens of Shadows. Mindless ghouls staggered about in a daze, obliviously burning to death, while masked Maya stretched out their hands in a futile effort to save themselves, melting back into ink and tar.  
  
But there were still ghouls charging out of the flames, their empty eyes burning with a ghastly red light.  
  
“Operator, this is Shepherd Two,” Agent Hui Lam barked into his comm, flinching away as a ghoul appeared over his shoulder and immediately exploded into a swirl of green wind. “We are engaged with a hostile force. Fix on this location, echo one, three, seven-”  
  
Lam ducked away from a swiping claw, firing a lightning round into a ghoul’s thigh. Electricity exploded across its form, stopping it in its tracks. Lam raised his aim and fired into the charging crowd, paralyzing three more ghouls and sending them tumbling to the ground as their leg muscles seized up. Moments later, they died, engulfed in a wave of fire.  
  
“Hey, don’t take this the wrong way,” Ann said, flames curling around her fingers. “Your stun guns are, like, _super_ cool. But, uh, I don’t think they’re cuttin’ it, here.”  
  
“Agreed,” Lam nodded.  
  
“Ideally,” Caryn began, her bright and chipper tone undercut with anxiety, “we Sting them _before_ they start to transform.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Lam said. “The bigger guns are on their way.”  
  
Ann nodded, gathering fire at her fingertips. She slapped a charging ghoul to the ground with a curl of flame, crushing its skull beneath her heel. Another ghoul sprinted out of the blaze and pounced, Lam and Caryn’s shots both going wide.  
  
Ann hit the ground with a pained gasp, a ghoul pinning her down, shrieking in her face. A shining green arrow punched down through the top of its skull and out through its chin, nailing its jaw shut.  
  
Then it exploded, showering Ann in filth and gore.  
  
“Oh, _gross!_ ” Ann flailed, flicking tar off her face. Yukari offered her a hand and pulled Ann to her feet, their eyes meeting and lingering on each other for just a moment too long.  
  
Ann averted her eyes, her cheeks growing warm. But something else caught her eye across the way.  
  
There was a man, standing in the flames, watching their fight. A foreigner, from his height and build, gray-haired and gray-bearded. His dove-gray three-piece suit would not have been out of place, if it hadn’t been for the dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders, making him look like he was on his way to a night at the opera.  
  
Most strikingly, none of the ghouls swarming through this area seemed to have any interest in him at all.  
  
He raised his cane- and he didn’t look like he needed it to walk, so Ann was forced to assume he had it just for the aesthetic- and tipped it towards Ann in greeting, before turning and striding away.  
  
Ann scrunched up her face in confusion, before a night's worth of exhaustion abruptly hit her like a tidal wave. She slumped against Yukari’s shoulder, her head pounding.  
  
“Hey,” Yukari said urgently. “Are you okay?”  
  
Yukari curled an arm around Ann’s waist and Ann lay back, mashing the heel of her palm into her eyelids. Everything suddenly seemed too bright, too loud, too vertical. She wished she could lie down.  
  
“Sorry,” Ann said, her voice hoarse. “...N-Not to be too dramatic about this, but… I think that first explosion took a lot more out of me than I thought.”  
  
“‘Not to be dramatic’?” Yukari teased. “Ann, you swooned and fell into my arms.”  
  
Ann grinned, despite everything. “Point. So, is this the part where we kiss, or…?”  
  
Yukari rolled her eyes, smiling. “I don’t think that’s in the script.”  
  
“Um? It’s called ‘improvising’?”  
  
A ghoul’s shriek snapped Yukari’s attention back to the battle. It broke through Lam and Caryn’s defensive line, already feeble with only two defenders, and screamed at Yukari and Ann, its eyes ablaze with a hateful crimson light. It coiled its legs beneath it, and pounced.  
  
A blur snatched it out of the air.  
  
Ann flinched at the impact that never came. She winced, opening one eye.  
  
A blonde agent was standing before them, the ghoul pinned at her side, an arm disdainfully locked around its throat. She shifted her grip on the ghoul, and Ann thought she was going to snap its neck. Instead, she casually shattered the ghoul’s skull into the crook of her elbow.  
  
“Whoa,” Ann breathed. Beside her, Yukari’s eyes lit up.  
  
“Aigis!” Yukari beamed. “Long time no see!”  
  
“Yukari,” Aigis returned, with a warm smile. “A moment, please.”  
  
She turned and strode down the street, coattails flaring out behind. The swarm of ghouls chittered and shrieked, before charging forward, renewing their attack. Aigis stared down the sea of bodies, bearing down on her like a landslide.  
  
“Operator,” she said. “This is Shield Leader, requesting permission for level one ordnance.”  
  
_“Request granted. Limiters released.”_  
  
Aigis raised her arms towards the encroaching swarm, fingers straight. There was a click.  
  
Then a hail of gunfire shredded two dozen ghouls into shrieking clouds of ink and gore, hurling their ruined carcasses into the street like so much roadkill.  
  
Aigis held up her arms, her hands swiveling and venting heat, smoke rising from her fingers. She flicked her wrists, and her fingertips clicked back into place, covering up the gun barrel concealed in every knuckle.  
  
“Enemy annihilated,” Aigis announced.  
  
Ann blinked. She was still trying to process what had just happened. A street full of cultists transforming into Shadows? Sure. Her co-star having friends in high places? Fine. But she just saw somebody gun down a swarm of Shadows with their fingertips, and damn it, she had to draw the line somewhere.  
  
Yukari must have seen the question in Ann’s eyes.  
  
“That’s Aigis,” Yukari explained, without explaining anything. “She’s an old friend.”  
  
“You have interesting friends,” Ann muttered. “...Why does she have machine gun hands?”  
  
“Oh my god, Ann,” Yukari said, in faux-indignation. “You can’t just _ask_ someone why they have machine gun hands.”  
  
“Shut up,” Ann giggled, shoving Yukari away.  
  
“Takamaki!”  
  
Ann looked up with a start.  
  
“Sae!”  
  
Sae marched up to Ann, heels clicking on the pavement. She gently laid a hand on Ann’s shoulder. By Sae ‘No Hugs’ Niijima’s standards, this level of physical affection was downright smothering.  
  
“Takamaki,” Sae said gently. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I-”  
  
Sae looked Ann up and down, making a face.  
  
“...Takamaki. What are you wearing?”  
  
Ann blinked. She suddenly remembered that she was still in costume as the magical girl, Dusk- in a dark robe lined in red with flared, tattered sleeves, and a long skirt slit up the front to show off her knee-length boots.  
  
Ann cleared her throat.  
  
“...It’s, uh… it’s for work,” she winced. “...Anyway. Um. Have you heard from Makoto?”  
  
Sae shook her head. “No. Truthfully, I was hoping you had.”  
  
An awkward silence crept between them, without Makoto there to bridge the gap. Ann fidgeted, grateful when Yukari stepped forward in Makoto’s stead.  
  
“Hi,” Yukari smiled. “I work with Ann. I’m Yukari Takeba.”  
  
Sae took her offered hand.  
  
“Sae Niijima,” Sae nodded. “A pleasure.”  
  
“Charmed,” Yukari said. She blinked. “...Wait, ‘Niijima’? Are you-”  
  
“Excuse me,” Aigis said, her voice cutting through the air like a tracer round. “Everyone, please follow me. This area is not secure.”  
  
They nodded and hurried away, crunching charred husks beneath their feet, the blaze casting eerie shadows up the walls. As Aigis ushered them all away, flanked by agents, an otherworldly breeze followed in their wake. The wind swept away the magical flames, fading them to nothing. The street was once again plunged into darkness, leaving only the ruined, molten bodies of Shadows behind-  
  
-and the gray-haired man in his cloak, cane, and three-piece suit, thoughtfully stroking his beard as he watched them walk away.  
  
~*~  
  
It had to be a fake, Kana thought. It had to be.  
  
There was no way it was real. It had to be a fake, a stand-in, there just for looks- just like the electric fireplace it was mounted above. Then again, an electric fireplace wasn’t just for decoration- at least, not when the power isn’t out.  
  
But why would Okumura Inn have a genuine antique battle axe mounted on the wall, if not for the aesthetic?  
  
A hand touched Kana’s shoulder. She practically jumped out of her skin.  
  
“M-My apologies,” Yusuke said, taken aback.  
  
“Yusuke!” Kana gasped, clutching her chest. “...Oh. I-I thought you were a demon.”  
  
“The only thing devilish about me is the quality of my tea,” Yusuke smiled.  
  
Kana snorted. She took the offered teacup with a polite nod.  
  
Yusuke joined Kana on her couch, setting his own teacup and saucer on the low table before them. Okumura Inn’s public lounge stretched out around them- much too spacious for just the two of them, with shadows flickering across the high ceiling.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Yusuke asked, seeking to chase away the anxious quiet.  
  
Kana nodded towards the space above the mantel.  
  
“I was just admiring your, ah, battleaxe.”  
  
Yusuke chuckled. “Ah. That would be Haru’s. My display is on the other wall.”  
  
Kana looked. On the opposite side of the lounge, there was, indeed, a display rack mounted on the wall above another fireplace, this one bearing a katana and matching wakizashi.  
  
Kana made a face.  
  
“...Why do you have two fireplaces?”  
  
Yusuke raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Not ‘why do you have a _daisho_ in your humble bed and breakfast’?”  
  
Kana shrugged. “Why do you, then?”  
  
Yusuke took a sip of tea. “...I get cold.”  
  
“No, I mean…” Kana trailed off, catching the knowing look in Yusuke’s eyes. She pouted. “...Hey. Are you playing with me?”  
  
Yusuke took another, more nonchalant sip of tea. “...I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Jerk,” Kana grinned. She took a sip of her own tea. It was, she supposed, devilishly good.  
  
To be honest, Kana was glad Yusuke was here, to share a cup of tea with her in the dark. She was embarrassed- she’d wound up sleeping right through the beginning of the blackout. Supposedly, she was tired from jet lag, but the trip here from Osaka was only an hour long. She had only her own, erratic sleep schedule to blame.  
  
The blackout had put paid to her plans on heading over to Yongen-jaya and giving Futaba a surprise visit. Now, Kana didn’t really know what to do. All she could do was wait, sip tea, and watch shadows climb the walls.  
  
Here, on the outskirts of town, Okumura Inn was a mask of calm. There were fewer footsteps outside, fewer police sirens, fewer fires glinting over the rooftops. There was only the restless quiet, a stillness masquerading as safety. And Yusuke’s attempts at levity could only go so far.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Yusuke asked, again, once the uneasy silence had dragged on too long.  
  
Kana met his eyes, troubled, and took a sip of tea.  
  
“Futaba,” she said softly.  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, Lavenza stood, a gloved hand clutched to her chest. She took a deep breath, eyes screwed shut in concentration. She lifted the silver key, glinting in the moonless night with an otherworldly gleam.  
  
“Open to the Velvet Room,” Lavenza intoned.  
  
The shining outline of a door began to draw itself in the air. Then the air flickered with white lightning and the sound of shrieking, squealing metal. A raw, blinding white wound tore itself into the air. It stayed open for a second, before collapsing, vanishing with a whistling shriek. It was abrupt, and anti-climactic- a little puff of escaping air, and a shimmer, like heat haze, in the shape of a door.  
  
Lavenza took a deep breath and sighed. She was a servant of Igor, the keeper of the Velvet Room, himself a servant of humanity’s goodwill. She is one who presides over power, and yet here she was, unable to even open a door.  
  
“This Ordeal is truly an unjust game,” she murmured.  
  
A cat in a yellow collar leapt out through Sojiro’s broken living room window, becoming a pre-teen boy in a flash of yellow light. The house behind him was dark, silent, and still.  
  
“Anything?” Morgana asked.  
  
Lavenza shook her head. “No. You?”  
  
“No,” Morgana muttered, worried. “Nobody’s home. Maybe they’re in the cafe?”  
  
Lavenza ventured down the street, peering through the glass-panelled door. She lifted up the ‘Closed’ sign, studying it with a shining golden eye.  
  
“...I believe they are closed,” Lavenza said, without a hint of sarcasm.  
  
“ _Thank you_ , Lavenza,” Morgana muttered. “Look, I’m sorry. I could’ve sworn they’d be here.”  
  
“We must persist,” Lavenza said. “I could trace him, if I had something he spent a lot of time with, something imbued with his memories…”  
  
Morgana stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I could try to get you his favorite coffee mug, if you want.”  
  
Lavenza looked Morgana up and down. “...Morgana, you spent a great deal of time with him, did you not?”  
  
“Well, yeah, I’m with him every day, except for that one year I went abroad to go check out the rest of the human world and apparently everyone started dating each other behind my back…”  
  
Morgana squeaked in surprise as Lavenza grabbed him by his cheeks. Under different circumstances, he would have thought she was about to kiss him.  
  
“So you’re saying you have a very clear memory of whom we seek, correct?” she asked, with a strange intensity.  
  
“I guess? Let go of my face!”  
  
“I will do no such thing,” Lavenza said. “Look at me.”  
  
Their eyes met- ocean blue and dazzling gold- and Lavenza was gone, drifting dreamlike through the sea of Morgana’s memories. She was not prepared for many of those memories to be of him in cat form. The drastic change in perspective was dizzying, but she weathered through it, through the claustrophobic feeling of a schoolbag, a desk, the, frankly, baffling sensation of being a car driving through Mementos, all the while seeking the thread of the one beside him.  
  
Lavenza took the thread between her fingers. It shone at her touch, and she pulled it taut, revealing the places where it curled and knotted. She followed the luminescent trail through the Tokyo Underground, through the faint glow of liminal places, ticket booths, public restrooms, fast food lines. She followed the luminous thread past the brilliant light of Cafe Leblanc and Sojiro’s house, pulling it free from the countless others entwined around it, a braided cord of light and heat and trust. She followed the thread to the last moment Morgana saw him, waving through the door of Leblanc that morning as the breakfast rush started piling in. Akira’s thread stretched onwards, blurry and ghostlike. For while Morgana had no crystallized memory of exactly what Akira had done today, she could still feel him, could still trace his presence, like hearing the echo of a voice without quite catching the words. Lavenza followed that thread, to Takemi Medical Clinic, to Shibuya Station, to the hospital, and beyond…  
  
Lavenza returned to her body with a sharp gasp, the brilliant lights and colors of astral space receding into the mundane darkness of reality.  
  
“I see him,” Lavenza breathed, resolute. She smiled, and patted Morgana’s cheek. “Thank you for your assistance.”  
  
Morgana stared at her dumbly, his heart fluttering in his chest. Her piercing golden eyes were burning circles into his corneas, leaving phantom images across the back of his eyelids.  
  
Lavenza tilted her head, regarding him strangely.  
  
“Come along, then,” she said, offering her hand.  
  
“Y-Yeah,” Morgana stammered. He took Lavenza’s hand, and followed her into the dark.  
  
~*~  
  
Ann was nervous.  
  
There were plenty of perfectly valid reasons for her to worry. Perhaps not for her safety, since she had Yukari, Miss Machine Gun Hands and two armed government agents looking out for her. But there were other things to worry about- like whether her friends were safe, whether that cult was up to no good, or how long the blackout would last.  
  
But out of all these worrisome concerns, the one that stuck with Ann most was making a good impression on Sae.  
  
Ann and Sae were not close. Ann figured it was a personality thing. Sae was fairly adamantly _not_ a hugger, while Ann lived and breathed PDA, always eager to lean on a shoulder, squeeze a hand, or affectionately bump her head against someone like a cat would.  
  
The agents had escorted them to the Tokyo Diet Building. They stepped onto an elevator, and Lam had held his badge up to a sensor and pressed the button for the basement.  
  
They went down one floor, as expected.  
  
And then they kept going.  
  
They descended in a tense quiet, everyone drained from the street fight and the long walk afterward, everyone tight-lipped from either nerves, decorum, or just plain exhaustion. Ann idly wished the elevator would at least play some music.  
  
Ann glanced at Sae beside her. She cleared her throat.  
  
“Sae.”  
  
Sae nodded politely. “Takamaki.”  
  
Ann frowned. If Sae wasn’t even on a first name basis with her, she didn’t know if she should push it. Still, Sae was her (hopefully) future sister-in-law. She had to try.  
  
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ann said.  
  
Sae’s expression softened a fraction. “Thank you, Takamaki. I’m glad you’re safe, too.”  
  
“I always thought Sae was a pretty name,” Ann said, hoping this didn’t sound as trite as it felt to say it. “Fitting, too.”  
  
“How do you figure?”  
  
“You know…” Ann swallowed. She smiled. “[Because you sigh a lot?]”  
  
Something imperceptible flicked across Aigis’ eyes. Yukari snorted, scrunching her face up, desperately forcing the laughter back down. Ann grinned up at Sae, eager.  
  
Sae only sighed.  
  
“Speak Japanese, Takamaki,” Sae muttered, with just a hint of a smile. “I can’t understand you.”  
  
~*~  
  
“I just can’t understand it,” Haru said, her breath hitching in her throat. “Who would do something like this?”  
  
“I know,” Yusuke said, rubbing her shoulders. “Shhh. I know. It’s going to be alright.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Haru,” Kana said, somber.  
  
“I’ll kill them,” Haru seethed, balling her fists. “I’ll kill them for you, my darlings. My precious babies. I’ll make them get on their knees and beg for forgiveness. I’ll put on my finest boots, and I’ll crush them beneath my heel! I’ll kill them! I’ll make them suffer just like you did, my lovelies. I’ll ruin them, and I’ll do it for you! I’ll-”  
  
There was a sound and Haru jolted upright, raising her lantern.  
  
“W-Who’s there?!” She squeaked, her hair glowing in the lamplight, her poor, trampled tomato plants momentarily forgotten beside her.  
  
More scuffling down the street. Haru shooed Yusuke away. He curled a protective arm around Kana’s shoulders- easily, considering her shoulders only came to his elbows anyway- and lingered by the door back inside.  
  
“If there’s somebody out there… well, you’d better _watch out!_ ” Haru squeaked, her threat rather undermined by the tremor in her voice. She snatched up the closest thing at hand, brandishing it like a knife. “I have a gardening trowel! I’ll… uh… I’ll _dig your heart out!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
Ann’s group continued their descent in a dreadfully awkward silence.  
  
“Just how far underground _is_ this place?” Ann wondered.  
  
“Far enough to survive a continuous artillery bombardment or ICBM strike,” Aigis replied tonelessly.  
  
“It’s not called ‘The Bunker’ for nothing,” Yukari said.  
  
Silence again, silence save for the whirring of the cables and the whoosh of the elevator shaft flicking past- and the twitching, murmuring undercurrent of anxiety that had suffused this night ever since the blackout began.  
  
Ann jumped. Caryn was tugging her sleeve.  
  
“Hey,” Caryn began, her warm voice cutting through the gloom. “Do you want to see my cats?”  
  
“Yes!” Ann’s face lit up as she yanked out her phone. “Do you want to see my girlfriends?”  
  
~*~  
  
It was a Shadow.  
  
A ghoul, emaciated, pale as death, with fingers ending in ragged claws. Haru had been expecting a robber, perhaps one of those red-hooded ne’er-do-wells, the type of uncouth ruffian who’d run loose through the city during a blackout and trample her precious tomato plants under their boots. She didn’t expect a Shadow.  
  
She didn’t think she’d be so lucky.  
  
Here’s the thing about fear: it’s never stronger than in your imagination. A sound down the street, a shadow on the wall- those could be anything, spanning the entirety of your darkest, deepest nightmares. But as soon as it steps into the light, it becomes something else entirely.  
  
A ghoul isn’t a nightmare. It’s just a Shadow. An honest, solid, straightforward threat. Dangerous, but still based on rules.  
  
It can bleed.  
  
It can break.  
  
Kana flinched at the grisly crunch of metal against bone. Yusuke held her as she wept with fear, watching Haru with a morbid fascination, some strange part of him longing for a canvas so he could capture this moment in acrylic. The glow of the lamplight, caught in her hair. The flash of her trowel as it came chopping down.  
  
With one last shriek, Haru made good on her threat. Panting, she gazed down at the shattered ruin of the ghoul’s torso, reached past a forest of splintered ribs, and, with a grunt of effort, tore the ghoul’s heart out of its chest.  
  
Then Haru carried the ghoul’s corpse to her stand of tomato plants and dropped it on the ground like a bag of fertilizer.  
  
“Eat well, my dears,” she cooed, tenderly cupping a tomato leaf. Across the yard, Yusuke shivered.  
  
“Is it dead?” Kana murmured.  
  
“I think so,” Haru exhaled. “...Oh, Kana. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”  
  
“I’m sorrier that I had to hear it,” Kana sniffled, the meaty, grisly chop of Haru hacking through bone still echoing in her ears.  
  
Haru reached down and wrenched her trowel out from where it was wedged in the ghoul’s ribs. She heard a shuffling nearby and she spun, hunting for the sound.  
  
“Come out!” Haru snapped. “Come out, or I’ll till you like so much fresh soil!”  
  
A brief pause. Then a figure stepped into the light, their hands raised.  
  
“Easy there, Gardening Mama,” said a silver-haired woman in a long, dark coat. “I’m not askin’ for a stabbin’.”  
  
Haru saw the violet armband, and the badge at her breast. She lowered her trowel.  
  
“You,” Haru blinked. “You’re-”  
  
“With the Agency, yeah,” the woman nodded. “An’, uh, I gotta tell ya’s, I’m feelin’ kinda embarrassed right now.”  
  
“It must be that peculiar accent,” Yusuke muttered.  
  
Kana jabbed an indignant elbow into his gut.  
  
“Rude!” she hissed. “She’s prob’ly from Kansai, like me!”  
  
“Ignore them, please,” Haru said. She pulled off her gardening gloves and offered her hand. “I’m Haru Okumura, the owner of this inn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”  
  
“Labrys. Uh. Just Labrys, actually.”  
  
“Charmed,” Haru smiled. “Now, what were you saying?”  
  
“I was sayin’ I’m feelin’ a lil’ sheepish, is all,” Labrys smiled, gesturing to the ghoul laid out in Haru’s garden. “I was countin’ on comin’ in ‘ere all cool, sayin’ I was ‘ere to rescue ya, and then ya went ahead an’ stole my thunder.”  
  
~*~  
  
Ann couldn’t help but feel like the Bunker was inappropriately named.  
  
Sure, it had some things _in common_ with bunkers. It was certainly deep underground, and Ann had no doubt that it could stand up to having a bomb dropped on top of it.  
  
But the scale was all wrong. This place was enormous, and more than that, it was _gorgeous_ . Everywhere she looked, there were elaborate tile mosaics, or ornate glass lamps- even faux-stained-glass windows lit from behind, giving the Bunker the impression of a cathedral lit by natural sunlight rather than a military installation buried deep underground. And as Ann strode out into a vast atrium space, trying and failing not to stare, and mildly annoyed that it seemed like she was the only member of her group who had never been here before…  
  
That was when Ann was absolutely certain.  
  
This wasn’t a bunker.  
  
This was a _palace_ .  
  
And, as if to prove her point, it even had a throne- on a balcony, overlooking the main command center. Ann only got a peek inside as her group hustled down the hall. It was a huge space, like the interior of a movie theater, except the rows facing the screen all had desks and workstations. Visored Operators tapped at their consoles and spoke into their headsets, while above them, a multi-colored graphic of the city of Tokyo moved in real-time.  
  
Sae squeezed Ann’s shoulder. Ann sighed and kept moving.  
  
They crossed the lobby, where a scattered handful of uniformed agents stood and chatted quietly with one another. They were standing on a vast roundel of the Agency’s insignia- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole. Ann had to admire the craftsmanship involved- the sigil was set into the floor, the shape coalescing out of a mosaic of cut glass and chips of semi-precious stones. There were words inscribed along the border, in English. The agency’s slogan: “Pursuing Potential”. Written above were more words, also in English.  
  
Speaking English was one thing, but reading it was quite another. Ann squinted, trying to make out the words.  
  
“...Para… normal… Special… Investi-”  
  
There was a scream down the hall. Ann jolted upright, the agents nearby snapping alert, their hands going to their holsters.  
  
A black blur raced down the hall and crashed into Ann’s arms. Ann spun from the force of the impact, just barely keeping her feet. And then, before she knew it, she felt a warm embrace, and the softness of lips against hers.  
  
“Ann,” Shiho breathed, as she pulled away. She gave her a sheepish smile. “I- I’m sorry, I know I should have asked. May I-”  
  
Ann kissed her, curling her fingers through Shiho’s long, dark hair. Shiho pulled her close, close enough to feel Ann’s heart leap in her chest. She chased Ann’s lips as Ann pulled away, pressing soft, fluttering butterfly kisses into the corners of Ann’s smile, as if they could trap her here in her embrace and she’d never be able to let go.  
  
Unfortunately for Shiho, Ann did let go- but only for a moment, just long enough to catch Makoto as she dove into her arms. Ann stumbled back, Shiho catching her and propping her up so she wouldn’t fall. Shiho pressed her cheek against Ann’s shoulder, crying in joy and relief. Her hands settled on Ann’s waist while Makoto took her by the jaw and gave her a forceful, hungry kiss.  
  
Makoto released Ann’s lips with a gasp, burying her face in Ann’s chest. Ann smoothed Makoto’s hair against her scalp, tucking her beneath her chin. The three of them stood and swayed together, drinking in the moment, not caring at all who saw them.  
  
“Oh, Ann…” Makoto sighed blissfully, her voice gaining a rueful edge. “...you would not _believe_ the night we are having.”  
  
“Just wait ‘til you hear about mine!” Ann laughed.  
  
The other agents in the lobby pointedly looked away, giving them as much privacy as they could. Aigis, Lam and Caryn went off to attend to other duties. Yukari lingered nearby, leaning on the balcony rail.  
  
“She never told me,” Yukari smiled, watching Ann’s tearful reunion. She glanced at Sae. “God, just look at them.”  
  
Sae nodded. Her expression was unreadable, as always, but it had a hint- just a hint- of a smile.  
  
Makoto caught her eyes across the way, and she broke from Ann’s grasp with a start.  
  
“Sis!” Makoto stammered. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t see you-”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sae said gently. “You’re safe. Don’t ever apologize for that.”  
  
Sae fondly laid a hand in Makoto’s hair. She nodded politely to Ann and Shiho, before striding away.  
  
There was another shout from the end of the hall. This time, none of the other agents snapped to attention- merely watched, bemused, as Akira and Ryuji came running across the lobby. Makoto and Shiho darted away before Ryuji could bowl them over in his haste to embrace his best friend. He and Ann bonked their foreheads together- maybe a little harder than either of them intended- and held each other, laughing.  
  
“Okay, _okay_ ! Sheesh!” Ann giggled. “Does anybody _else_ want to run up and hug me?”  
  
Akira stoically raised his hand.  
  
Ann rolled her eyes. “C’mere.”  
  
Ann pulled her boys into a hug. She leaned over and gave Ryuji a chaste peck on his lips.  
  
“We looked for you,” he said, as they parted.  
  
“Aww, were you _worried_ about me?” Ann teased.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Akira said, winking as Ann gave him a peck on the cheek. “Ryuji said if he had to, he’d crawl to you on his hands and knees.”  
  
“Oh, dude- Fuck off!”  
  
“Is that so?” Ann purred, relishing the flash of red across Ryuji’s face. “...I just  _love_ a man who’ll get on his knees for me.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Ryuji grinned, shoving Ann and Akira away. “You two chucklefucks made it weird, so now this hug is over. It’s cancelled.”  
  
“Well, get ready for the sequel!” Shiho chirped, as she and Makoto joined the pile.  
  
They laughed together, in relief and delight. They crowded around Ann, just wanting to be near her, to savor her presence after her absence took such a toll. They gathered around, figuratively and almost literally smothering her with affection, and poor Ann only had two arms- how could she possibly carry it all?  
  
Yukari watched them, overcome by a sweet, wistful fondness. She felt someone beside her and she glanced up at them, gently bumping her head against their shoulder.  
  
“Were we ever that close?” they asked.  
  
“No,” Yukari replied. “We never really all hung out together. And, to be fair, we kinda had that whole ‘end of the world’ thing looming over us. That kinda dampens the mood.”  
  
The other woman smiled.  
  
“The more things change…”  
  
She stepped forward, her coat flaring behind her with every step. She flipped her hair, a curtain of red cascading over her shoulders. Ann and her cluster of friends turned, intrigued.  
  
“Your attention, please,” she began, in a voice trained to carry. “Welcome to the Tokyo Diet- and welcome, to the secret beneath the surface. My name is Mitsuru Kirijo. I am the Director of this agency. And I believe I owe all of you an explanation.”  
  
Mitsuru raised a hand peaceably.  
  
“...That being said… it has been a long night. Your endurance in the face of this crisis has been commendable. For now, I propose that you all get some rest.”  
  
Akira stepped forward.  
  
“I’m not doing anything until I know my family is safe,” he said, meeting Mitsuru’s eyes.  
  
“I thought you might say that,” Mitsuru nodded. “I have retrieval teams securing them as we speak.”  
  
Akira opened his mouth, as if in protest, before he closed it again.  
  
“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing rooms for all of you,” Mitsuru continued. “I invite you all to enjoy a safe and restful night’s sleep. Please, make yourselves at home. Know that this place is the safest location in all of Tokyo. Rest, and recover. Because in the morning…”  
  
Mitsuru smiled. A pair of agents appeared behind her.  
  
“...we will have much to discuss,” Mitsuru concluded. “These agents will show you to your rooms. I will see you all at breakfast. I bid you all a good night.”  
  
~*~  
  
For all her insistence that Akira and his circle get some rest, Mitsuru seemed of little mind to follow that advice herself. She marched down the Bunker halls, trailing an entourage like a wedding train, stepping onto the command center balcony.  
  
Mitsuru gazed out at the map of Tokyo, pulsing blue in its slumber, with a few scattered arrowheads converging on the Diet building. Mitsuru took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
She turned, facing her officers- a young woman in a white dress, Aigis in her uniform coat, and an older man, graying at the temples, in a suit and tie.  
  
“Status report,” Mitsuru asked. “Communications?”  
  
“We are still detecting scattered manifestations, but nothing nearly as severe as the mess Yukari-chan ran into,” the woman said, bowing her head respectfully. “The pattern is holding- the distortions are centered around train stations. We have not yet discovered a reason why. As for active field teams, Hammer and Phoenix have both reported that they will be arriving within the hour.”  
  
“Thank you, Fuuka,” Mitsuru nodded. “Security?”  
  
Aigis inclined her head. “Per your orders, JSDF ground forces are moving to barricade the street-level entrances to the Tokyo Underground, with Shibuya and Shinjuku Station as their highest priority. A number of infantry companies have been ceded to our command for the duration of this crisis.”  
  
“Thank you, Aigis," Mitsuru nodded. "I’m placing you in charge of overseeing the deployment."  
  
“With respect, Director, my place is here, at your side.”  
  
Mitsuru smiled. “What use is a Shield inside a Bunker? I need you out there, protecting the people.”  
  
“Understood.”  
  
Mitsuru caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye- a shadow in the doorway. She cleared her throat.  
  
“Any questions?”  
  
“No, ma’am,” they chorused.  
  
“That will be all, then,” Mitsuru smiled and nodded. “Director, the night shift is yours.”  
  
~*~  
  
Akira stared up at the ceiling- blurry, without his glasses. It was a strange relief to find that the quarters that Mitsuru had set aside for them were relatively ordinary, compared to the opulence of the rest of the Bunker- it’s not like Akira wanted or needed silk sheets and stained glass.  
  
He exhaled, lost in thought.  
  
“You okay?” Ryuji asked, beside him.  
  
Akira sat up, pulling on his glasses.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said. “I was just thinking I’d wait for Sojiro and Futaba to get here. Tae, too.”  
  
Ryuji nodded. He sat up, bumping an elbow against Akira’s.  
  
“I’ll stay up with you, then,” he said lightly.  
  
“Thanks,” Akira said.  
  
They sat together in the dark, their bodies aching- from tension, from fear, from the climbing toll of spending so long in their feet. Exhaustion was begging them to finally rest. Loyalty, and love, demanded they wait.  
  
“Hey,” Ryuji said, reaching out and ruffling Akira’s hair, like a cat.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“What do you think the girls are up to?”  
  
Akira snorted. “What do _you_ think?”  
  
~*~  
  
The recollection of their respective days took Ann on a wild ride, from heartache, to outrage, to awe and relief. Their stories stretched out and twined together, a braid of memory tied from just a few of tonight’s harrowing threads.  
  
Ann sighed, entwined with the women she loved- a warm, welcoming tangle, rather than the knot of fear and worry the rest of the night had been. She leaned forward and pressed her nose against Shiho’s, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Makoto’s hair.  
  
“Okay,” Ann breathed into the warm quiet. “I think Mako wins for worst day.”  
  
“Lucky me,” Makoto muttered, deadpan.  
  
“Yes, lucky you,” Ann purred, a twinkle in her eye. “Because now you have me to kiss it better. Nurse Suzui?”  
  
“Yes, Doctor?” Shiho cooed.  
  
“Won’t you show me where it hurts?”  
  
“Of course…”  
  
Guided by Shiho’s feather-light touch, Ann kissed her way down Makoto’s throat. She nipped at Makoto’s collarbone, and Makoto gasped- the flash of Shibuya Station’s filthy red light shoved aside, smothered by Ann’s warm, soothing touch. Makoto shivered as Shiho pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, reaching down and trailing her fingers through Ann’s hair.  
  
Ann looked up and met her eyes- sky blue and wine red.  
  
“Tell me how you want me,” Ann whispered, and Makoto’s breath caught in her throat.  
  
“W-Worship me,” Makoto breathed.  
  
“I love you, Mako,” Ann purred, smiling into each kiss she pressed into Makoto, squirming and mewling beneath her. “I love all of you. I love your whole body… I love your breasts… I love your legs, your thighs-”  
  
“Your wings,” Shiho abruptly chimed in.  
  
“Hold on, hold on,” Makoto huffed. “I’m not a fried chicken.”  
  
The sensual mood shattered into stifled giggling. They laughed together, reveling in the closeness, in their shared, blissful warmth. The three of them were together, happy and whole. This was something to treasure. This was something worth savoring, for as long as they could.  
  
~*~  
  
The Bunker was settling into slumber, the lights dimmed for night cycle, with only scattered agents ambling about. Mitsuru stood in the main atrium, before the vast tiled roundel of the Agency insignia, leaning back against the balcony rail. She nodded at Labrys as she entered, escorting a trio of stragglers to their rooms. Another team of agents filed through, escorting three more.  
  
Sojiro’s cracked glasses caught the light. He met Mitsuru’s eyes and glowered.  
  
He vanished down the hall. Mitsuru pressed her lips into a line.  
  
“Do you get paid overtime?” Sae asked lightly beside her.  
  
“I apologize,” Mitsuru murmured, guilt stabbing into her chest. “I handed off command an hour ago, but I just wanted to make sure we were all accounted for.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Sae said lightly. “I’m hardly one to talk about not clocking out.”  
  
“Still,” Mitsuru said, “I’ve kept you waiting.”  
  
Sae reached out and curled a hand over Mitsuru’s on the balcony rail.  
  
“It’s a pleasure watching you work,” Sae said, with a hint of a smile.  
  
“You enjoy watching me order people around?” Mitsuru smirked.  
  
“I’m just saying,” Sae shrugged. “There are, apparently, some people who pay good money to have beautiful women tell them what to do.”  
  
Mitsuru smiled. And Sae smiled back.  
  
Sae was not a woman to whom self-expression came easily. Sae’s affection was a slight, subtle thing. It was the touch of a hand; the faint curve of a smile; a brief glance of those stunning red eyes.  
  
Mitsuru knew how lucky she was, then, to have Sae curl their fingers together; to smile unabashed; to capture her gaze and hold it until her heart fluttered in her chest.  
  
“Director?”  
  
Mitsuru took a sharp breath and sighed. Sae squeezed her hand in sympathy.  
  
“...It’s alright,” Sae said softly. “I’ll wait for you.”  
  
Mitsuru watched her stride away, long-limbed and commanding, down the hall. She turned, sparing her companion a sidelong glance.  
  
“...Thank you for not addressing me as ‘Mitsuru’,” Mitsuru said.  
  
“Of course,” Yukari said. She was no longer in costume as White Rose, having changed into casual clothes. “Thank _you_ for holding onto my stuff and not giving my room away.”  
  
“Don’t read into that too much, I beg you.”  
  
“Would I ever?” Yukari smiled. She nodded down the hall. “Sooooooo...  she seems nice.”  
  
“Oh, Yukari…” Mitsuru sighed. “Can’t this conversation wait until morning?”  
  
“If you want,” Yukari said. “But I would like to meet her, eventually. Properly, I mean. I think so far, her only impression of me is an awkward ten minutes in an elevator together.”  
  
“That’s fair,” Mitsuru chuckled. She reached out and patted Yukari’s arm. “...I’m glad you’re safe, Yukari.”  
  
“It got pretty dicey for a bit,” Yukari admitted. “Thank Aigis for getting us out of there. Oh, and Ann- Ann was amazing. She really turned that fight around.”  
  
“It was a fight that should never have been fought,” Mitsuru muttered.  
  
Yukari sighed.  
  
“...Yeah…” Yukari said. “...I’ve been thinking about that, too. Those were Shadows, Mitsuru. People are openly transforming into Shadows, outside of the Dark Hour. I thought… I thought we’d put a stop to that.”  
  
“I, as well,” Mitsuru mused. She flinched as Yukari leaned her head against her shoulder. But she didn’t pull away.  
  
“What does this mean?” Yukari murmured. “What happened to Minato? What happened to the Great Seal?”  
  
~*~  
  
Tokyo spent the night in a fitful slumber, before morning came and drew it into the light. Across the city, people awoke- to broken windows and barred doors, to ransacked storefronts and smouldering car fires. The city was bruised and bloody.  
  
But it survived.  
  
Tokyo awoke to JSDF soldiers manning barricades at every major entryway into the Tokyo Underground, and to the buzz of fearful rumors of just what it was they were trying to keep out. Many people were still stranded by train service grinding to a halt. Cell phones were still down. They were cut off, from their homes, their loved ones, the unknown gnawing at their thoughts.  
  
But they survived.  
  
Far below the city, the Agency’s Tokyo Branch Director was preparing for one last task before his shift was over. He stepped up to the podium, a far cry from his old soapbox and loudspeaker. He nodded politely to Communications Chief Yamagishi, who gave him the go-ahead from her console.  
  
Across the city, scattered screens and PA speakers flickered and crackled to life.  
  
_“Your attention, please. I am Toranosuke Yoshida, representing the Bureau of Public Safety. People of Tokyo, we face a crisis. But we have endured such troubles before, and we shall do so again. Know that your government is working hard to restore power as we speak. But for your own safety, please, remain in your homes. And if you must leave, you_ **_must_ ** _be aware of your surroundings at all times…”_ _  
_  
From the steps of the church in Kanda, Hifumi listened to Yoshida’s announcement, and watched the sun rise. The light banished the shadows from the streets, casting the world in gilded relief. Father Eli’s voice drifted out the doors.  
  
“My brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his will. Don the armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil…”  
  
Hifumi watched trucks packed with JSDF troops trundle on past towards the train station, and she pursed her lips, wondering if the daylight was truly any safer than the dark.  
  
“...For we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against rulers of darkness and spiritual wickedness in high places. Take unto you the armor of faith, that you may withstand the evil day…”  
  
Morning came, and Mitsuru pressed a kiss to the silver tangle in bed beside her. She stood, haloed in the false sunlight projected against the far wall. She raised a hand and gestured, replacing the stunning view of sunrise over the Tokyo Bay with the view from the command room, watching Tokyo move in real-time.  
  
In a few minutes, Kikuno would be at her door, ready with the day’s itinerary. She would walk into the command room and take her place at its height, accepting command from Branch Director Yoshida, her steward, the caretaker of her throne.  
  
She would meet with her guests over breakfast. They would have a proper round of introductions. They would compare notes. She would make them a deal.  
  
And then Mitsuru would wield this Agency in the defense of the city.  
  
At her command, against any onslaught...  
  
Tokyo will survive.  
  
Mitsuru gestured, dismissing the command room projection in favor of the view over Tokyo Bay. It was patently false, given she was deep underground. But she looked out across the city, and across the water, gazing into the light.  
  
The board was set. Her pieces were gathered.  
  
Mitsuru sighed, pressing her lips into a line.  
  
“Your move.”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance:**
> 
> “What a beautiful day in God’s domain.”
> 
> “Trickster… I’ve found you at last.”
> 
> “I would like to make a deal.”
> 
> “What if I say ‘no’?”
> 
> “You disappoint me, Trickster. Where is your conviction? Where is your resolve?”
> 
> “No! We killed you!”
> 
> “The LORD will remake me as many times as He sees fit!”
> 
> “We have no more time. What is your answer?”
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time on **The Second Renaissance: Wings of Rebellion**.


	5. Wings of Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom Thieves have survived the first night of the Tokyo Blackout, sheltered in the hands of Mitsuru Kirijo and her agents. The time has come for answers, bargains, and for the forces vying for control of Tokyo to finally step into the light. 
> 
> The first night has come and gone, but the Ordeal is only beginning. 
> 
> The World is changing.
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Don't turn your back on the City._

~*~  
  
The sun rose plaintively over Tokyo Bay, as if it were afraid of what it might find.  
  
The light stretched across the city and kissed the people awake, banishing, for the moment, the darkness of the Tokyo Blackout. Some woke gasping from restless, fitful dreams, peering anxiously through their blinds at the streets below. Others saw the light slanting in through their windows and reached out to touch the beam, as if in benediction. Scattered throughout the city, a lucky few even woke to discover that their power had been restored.  
  
All of them woke to the sound of Toranosuke Yoshida’s voice crackling over every street corner and every speaker it could. He spoke, offering words of comfort, of warning, and a hope as frail as the first light over the water.  
  
One man, eager to see the sunrise, stepped out into the light. He rose from the murky red light of Kanda Station’s miasmal underground, and emerged onto the street.  
  
The city held the scent of seawater, of sweat, soot, and ash. Beneath that, something more ethereal, but no less pervasive- the scent of fear. And beneath even that, something else…  
  
The man lifted his face to the light and breathed deep, taking in the scent of promise- of anticipation.  
  
He scarcely batted an eye to the JSDF soldiers staring him down from behind their chest-high sandbag barricades, and the dozen rifles leveled at his chest.  
  
He took another deep breath, and let out a content sigh.  
  
“What a beautiful day... in God’s domain.”  
  
A JSDF soldier stepped forward. Their leader, he presumed, though he could hardly tell- they all looked the same to him. The trooper shouted a warning to him in his foul, uncouth voice- something about putting his hands up.  
  
His lips curled into a smile. Let it not be said that he could not do as he was told.  
  
He raised his hands, obligingly, his fingertips shining with violet light...  
  
~*~  
  
_Futaba dreams._ _  
_ _  
_ _She is standing on a cliff, haloed by stars. The Titan Prometheus looms before her, gray-bearded, cloaked in red._ _  
_ _  
_ _Prometheus reaches out his hand, offering humanity the gift of fire, stolen from the gods. The flame in his hands is the color of Futaba’s hair._ _  
_ _  
_ _Actually, it is Futaba’s hair. Prometheus is offering her her own head, her hair shining like a torch. Futaba’s headless dream body reaches out and accepts this gift, popping her head back onto her shoulders. Prometheus smiles in an almost fatherly fashion, smoothing her hair against her scalp._ _  
_ _  
_ _Futaba leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of his fingers in her hair…_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
A thought penetrated the haze of Futaba’s dreams. She jolted upright with a screech.  
  
“Somebody’s touching me!” she announced, flailing.  
  
“‘Taba!” came a voice. “Futaba, it’s me!”  
  
Futaba abruptly went still. She squinted in the dark, pulling on her glasses, and the blur beside her resolved into a familiar face. Futaba’s eyes lit up.  
  
“Kana!”  
  
Futaba hugged her so forcefully they almost toppled off the bed. Kana beamed, trailing her fingers through Futaba’s hair.  
  
“You’re in Tokyo!” Futaba babbled into Kana’s neck.  
  
“Yeah,” Kana cooed. “Um… surprise?”  
  
Futaba let out a blissful sigh, nuzzling Kana’s neck. A thought occurred to her.  
  
“...This is not my house,” she said, studying her room- sparse and functional, as befitting the military.  
  
“Your dad brought you here last night,” Kana explained. “I was so worried. I thought you were hurt, but it turned out you were just sleeping like a log.”  
  
“That sounds like me,” Futaba grinned. But then the memories of the previous night caught up to her in a rush, jumping through her head like a drunk throwing a punch.  
  
The ghoul. The gun. The fire.  
  
“My dad,” Futaba whispered, urgent. “Where’s my dad?”  
  
~*~  
  
The Bunker was a truly massive facility- large enough to get lost in. Knowing this, there had been an agent at the door to escort him to breakfast- and Sojiro hadn’t cared for that at all.  
  
There was a curious disconnect among the Bunker’s decor. Some spaces, like the atrium or the command room, were lavish. Extravagant, even. But stray even a little off the beaten path, and you’re reminded that you’re in a military base, not a cathedral- where the rooms become cramped and bare, and the halls all look alike.  
  
Even the hall Sojiro was in right now held a bit of the Bunker’s identity crisis. It was, at first blush, a perfectly ordinary dining hall. Normal. Mundane. But the entire far wall was inlaid with cutting-edge holographic strips, simulating a view out through floor-length windows, despite them being underground.  
  
“Our taxes, hard at work,” Sojiro grumbled.  
  
The projected view of sunrise over Tokyo Bay was, admittedly, stunning. But it was only a projection- the Agency showing you only what they want you to see.  
  
Sojiro sighed. He looked out across the dining hall, thoughtfully stroking his beard.  
  
Akira and Yusuke were standing before a banquet table laid out with pastries. They were admiring an artfully arranged tower of danish, stacked high. Of course, it was doomed, considering that someone was inevitably going to pick a pastry from the base rather than the top and send the whole thing crashing down.  
  
“Ironic,” Yusuke was saying to a bemused Akira. “A testament to humanity’s hubris, falling not to man overreaching himself, but instead, not reaching high enough.”  
  
At another table, a woman was sitting with Ryuji. She was a head shorter than him, but broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Her hair, like his, was spiky and bleach-blonde.  
  
“Geez, Ma,” Ryuji said, poking at a bandage on her jaw. “What happened to you?”  
  
“Some punk came in lookin’ for a fight,” Sanae Sakamoto grinned. “Pow! Right in the kisser!”  
  
Ryuji wasn’t smiling.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ryuji said softly. “I shoulda been there.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sanae clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She flexed her other arm and proudly patted her bicep, flashing him a jocular grin. “I got him back.”  
  
Sojiro continued scanning the room, watching the group gather. There was Tae, swirling a teabag in her mug, her hair sleep-tussled. The bruises on her neck were unpleasantly dark- about as dark as Tae’s mood to be up this early. A little ways away, Ann was sitting, similarly incapacitated by the prospect of rising at dawn. She was face-down on a table, murmuring groggily while Shiho sat beside her, pulling Ann’s hair into her signature twintails. Nearby, Haru and Makoto were chatting animatedly- about Makoto’s fight in Shibuya Station, and about how Haru literally dug a ghoul’s heart out of its chest with a gardening trowel.  
  
Sojiro’s gaze lingered, first on Akira, then on Ryuji. That was two of his kids accounted for. Now where-  
  
A shock of red hair appeared in Sojiro’s peripheral vision. He turned, seeing Futaba’s petite form curled up beside him, hugging her legs to her chest.  
  
Sojiro smiled. The claw marks on his face, still red and raw, stung with the gesture. But he didn’t mind.  
  
“Hey, bug,” he said, with the utmost fondness.  
  
“Hey, Dad,” Futaba smiled. Sojiro rested a hand on her hair, and she squeaked, leaning into the touch.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” Kana said, tucking her chin over Futaba’s shoulder.  
  
“Morning, kiddo,” Sojiro smiled warmly. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”  
  
And so, Sojiro realized with a quiet distaste, were their guards. The agents that had escorted them from the residential district (and just how big was this place if it had _districts_ ) now lingered against the walls, watching them. Sojiro glowered at them, his cracked glasses glinting in the projected sunrise.  
  
He hadn’t had the eyes of government agents on him for over a decade. He certainly didn’t want to start now.  
  
The agents lining the walls suddenly stood to attention. Sojiro looked up, following their eyes.  
  
Two agents pulled open the doors to the dining hall. They stepped aside, and Mitsuru stepped through.  
  
Mitsuru marched up to the head of the table, her coat flaring out behind her, her entourage at her heels. Her badge gleamed at her breast- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole.  
  
“Good morning, all of you,” Mitsuru announced, bowing her head in greeting. “I hope you all slept well. We have much to discuss. Now, let us begin…”  
  
~*~  
  
Kanda Station was silent, save for a faint gurgling and the pacing of sandals on pavement. The man strode up to the JSDF barricade and casually took a seat on the sandbags, raising a hand to his mouth as he let out an exaggerated, theatrical yawn.  
  
“I thank you, gentlemen, for the offer of some morning exercise,” he said, to a forest of black spires around him, “but I’m afraid I haven’t even broken a sweat.”  
  
The JSDF unit garrisoned at Kanda Station was arrayed around him. They were suspended in the air, entwined in ropes of living shadow that gagged them and held them in place, slowly choking to death. The man paced the rows of dark spires, studying their eyes, wide with fear, pain, outrage. He stopped before one of them, his cheek flickering with a dark, inky substance just beneath his skin.  
  
“Oh?” he breathed, intrigued, meeting the soldier’s eyes.  
  
For a moment, just a moment, the soldier’s eyes turned pitch-black.  
  
Then the man clenched a fist, and the unit of JSDF soldiers vanished into darkness with a horrific crunch of bone.  
  
The man’s smile faded. The black spires streamed across the ground and merged with his cloak, so long it dusted the pavement as he walked. He drew his black-feathered wings closer about his form, trailing a hand through his long, dark hair, greasy and unkempt.  
  
He sighed, bored now with no audience to witness him.  
  
“Not one,” he muttered, disappointed. “Not one worth taking. Pity.”  
  
He glanced scornfully at the marks staining the pavement. The soldiers’ bodies had vanished, stolen away into the warp, but the blood from their burst corpses still pooled and speckled the ground. He knelt and dipped his fingers in the red warmth, smearing a symbol into the street.  
  
A flicker of power pulsed through the street. The bloodstains rose into the air, haloed in an aura of hellish red light. They twisted in the air, changing, flickering between a library’s worth of obscene symbols. They shone and crackled with energy, luminous, sinister graffiti inscribed on the air itself. The man smiled up at the glyphs as they orbited around him, their sinuous forms slithering and coiling into themselves in mid-air.  
  
“Go,” he commanded. “Find me some worthier pawns.”  
  
They drifted lazily down the street, orbs of scarlet lightning whispering madness on the air.  
  
~*~  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mitsuru began, her voice ringing with authority, “I want to welcome you, once again, to the Tokyo Diet. I am Mitsuru Kirijo, the head of the Kirijo Financial Group, and the Director of this Agency.”  
  
She gestured to her officers waiting beside her- a sharply dressed woman, her dark-hair tinged violet; an older man in a crisp suit; and another woman, smiling sweetly in a white dress, her braided hair dyed a pale, seafoam green. Mitsuru nodded to them in turn.  
  
“This is my assistant, senior agent Kikuno Saikawa. This is Toranosuke Yoshida, the Branch Director of our headquarters here in Tokyo. This is my Chief of Communications, Fuuka Yamagishi. And, currently occupied with her duties in the field, is my Chief of Security, Aigis.”  
  
Mitsuru gestured, and the wall behind her shifted to display the agency roundel- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole, framed by the motto “Pursuing Potential”.  
  
“Together, we are the Paranormal Special Investigation Commission,” Mitsuru said. “We are PSICOM.”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi paced the streets of Kanda, each footstep filled with a wordless anxiety. She’d had enough of staying cooped up in the church, but walking through the neighborhood did little to still her wandering mind. They say that faith is placing your trust in the unknown; but there was too much unknown for Hifumi to bear.  
  
Where were her friends? Were they safe? Were they thinking of her? Why was the JSDF here? What was happening to the city?  
  
Then, at last, Hifumi found something that tore her attention away from her worries in a way that mere exercise could not. It was a light- a shimmering, coiling red light, floating just above the rooftops like ball lightning.  
  
A glyph.  
  
The sight of it stopped Hifumi in her tracks. She seized and went still, her ears filling with the sound of chittering insects. The glyph burned itself into Hifumi’s eyes and made her skin crawl-  
  
-but she couldn’t look away. She stared, transfixed, working her jaw silently, tears brimming in her eyes. The crackling lightning formed words in the air- secret words, obscene words, ones filled with promise, temptation, bleeding red like the apple of Eden…  
  
A sharp sound cracked across the air and snapped Hifumi out of her trance. She tore her gaze away from the daemon-light, her head spinning. She fell to her knees on the sidewalk and retched into the street, bile burning her throat. Above her, the shining glyph lazily drifted away.  
  
Hifumi sat on the sidewalk, trying to understand what she’d just seen. Her breath came in shuddering gasps. She could still hear the faint sound of insects buzzing in her ears.  
  
“It isn’t safe here,” came a voice above her.  
  
There was a man standing above her, grey-bearded, leaning on a cane. He wore a dove-grey three-piece suit. His already distinct appearance was accentuated by the dark cloak draped over his shoulders.  
  
Hifumi studied him, puzzled, her nauseating encounter with the glyph momentarily forgotten. The man reached into his breast pocket and tugged out a handkerchief. Hifumi took it, embarrassed, and wiped bile from her mouth.  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured.  
  
“Turn back,” he said.  
  
His voice echoed strangely in the narrow street.  
  
Hifumi did as she was told.  
  
He watched her until she vanished down the street, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he sighed, turning back up the street towards Kanda Station’s dreadful quiet.  
  
~*~  
  
“PSICOM, or the group that would become PSICOM, was founded almost fifteen years ago,” Mitsuru explained. “Back then, we were known as the Security Department, Shadow Response Unit, or Shadow Operatives.  
  
“Thirteen years ago, we were a relatively small organization. Our recruiting pool was limited,  having to choose our members from candidates displaying supernatural ability- people we refer to as ‘Gifted’, or ‘Awakened’. But following the Inaba Incident in 2011, the population experienced a sudden surge of such Gifted individuals, allowing our organization to grow into what it is now.  
  
“Regardless, whether we have ten members or ten thousand, our objective has always remained constant: to defend the public from supernatural hostility, and to investigate… _unconventional_ incidents. Incidents like the blackout afflicting Tokyo at this very moment. Miss Yamagishi?”  
  
Fuuka stepped forward and nodded, her sea-green braid tucked over her shoulder. She folded her hands primly before her.  
  
“Thank you, Director Kirijo,” Fuuka said gently. She was more softspoken than Mitsuru, less trained in oratory and rhetoric, but her voice still held a quiet strength. “At approximately 9 PM last night, a blackout deprived ninety-seven percent of Tokyo their electricity. Here in the Bunker, running separately from the Tokyo grid, we detected an enormous spike in psionic energy at that time. We cannot be completely certain, but we believe that this distortion is connected with the city’s loss of power. In addition to this initial surge, we have been tracking major distortions centered around the city’s train stations- as if these manifestations are coming up from underground.”  
  
“Last night, the JSDF moved to secure these ingress points,” Yoshida spoke up. “Security Chief Aigis has overseen the barricading of all major entrances to the Tokyo Underground. Already, we have received reports of skirmishes across the city. In every case, the enemy has been consistent.”  
  
“Zombies?” Tae drawled.  
  
“Ghouls,” Mitsuru replied. “Shadows.”  
  
“What about those weirdos in red hoods going around?” Ann cut in. “Yukari and I got into it with a whole mob of ‘em last night, and they all transformed into Shadows.”  
  
“That may be a question better posed to the police,” Yoshida said. “Officer Niijima?”  
  
Makoto blinked. Suddenly, all eyes were on her. She stood, quietly untangling her fingers from Haru’s and clearing her throat.  
  
“...I suppose, at this point, it would be counterproductive to keep this confidential,” Makoto said. “Those ‘weirdos in red hoods’ are a cult. They call themselves ‘The Firepact’, and they seem to believe the world will end in fire. Tokyo MPD has been aware of them for years now, but they were only ever a footnote in our records- doomsayers, street corner preachers. Harmless. But in the past three or four months, we’ve seen a massive swell in their numbers… and then, of course, there’s the fact that they’re outright transforming into Shadows and menacing the city. That’s definitely new.”  
  
“Why this?” Akira asked quietly, meeting Mitsuru’s eyes. “Why now?”  
  
Mitsuru pursed her lips thoughtfully. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  
  
“We don’t know,” Mitsuru admitted. “What we do know is that something, some poisonous influence, is converting the people of Tokyo into ghouls. Something… or someone.”  
  
~*~  
  
A chilly autumn breeze passed over Kanda Station, ruffling the man’s long, shadowy cloak. He drew his wings around his shoulders, idly running his fingertips through the glossy black feathers. He took a deep breath, and let out a content sigh, lounging on a makeshift throne built from remnants of the JSDF barricade. Men in chipped red armor stood behind him in loose ranks, bearing shields, spears, and an empty, inky nothing where their eyes should be. Every few minutes, another soldier rose out of the murky red light of Kanda Station and took its place among the growing legion.  
  
A man approached the shattered barricade. He was a peculiar sort, robed in red, his fingers covered in gaudy brass rings. He was not an imposing figure- he was of an average, if not lanky build, and there was something wrong with his eyes. They were red- all red, with not a hint of white showing.  
  
“Revered angel,” the newcomer said, falling to his knees at the man’s feet. “I have awaited this moment all my life. Now, at last, you honor us with your presence.”  
  
“Oh?” the angel asked, bemused. “And who would you be?”  
  
“Father Cyrus of the Firepact, lord,” he intoned, bowing low. “Your faithful servant.”  
  
A tense silence settled between them. The angel looked him over, before lifting a hand and haughtily examining his fingernails, his knuckles and forearms wrapped in dirty gauze.  
  
The quiet stretched on, Cyrus staring down at the pavement. He swallowed.  
  
“May I… know you, lord?”  
  
The angel rose to his full height, spreading his black-feathered wings. The shadow that fell across Cyrus flickered and roiled like a wild thing, bearing not the slightest resemblance to a man at all. The angel stepped forward, his shadowed cloak dusting the pavement as he walked.  
  
Cyrus trembled. “F-Forgive me, lord! I ask too much of you, presuming to even speak your hallowed name with these filthy mortal lips…!”  
  
Cyrus went stiff, a hand on his shoulder. He swallowed hard, quivering.  
  
“How did you find me?” asked the angel.  
  
“Your omen, lord,” Cyrus said, his voice shaking. “Your mark, written on the air in red lightning.”  
  
The glyph. Curious. The angel’s lips curled into a bemused smile.  
  
“And you wish to serve me?”  
  
Cyrus nodded vigorously.  
  
“Yes, lord. Anything.”  
  
The angel tipped Cyrus’ chin up with a dirty fingernail. The sun rose behind him, casting his form in deep shadow. Cyrus gazed at him in awe, tears brimming in his unnaturally red eyes.  
  
“Gather the faithful, Cyrus,” the angel intoned. “As many as you can, by tonight. I have a task for you.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Allow me to be perfectly frank,” Mitsuru said. “I would like to make a deal.”  
  
All eyes were on her- even Sojiro’s. She met his gaze, just for a moment. He scowled and looked away.  
  
Mitsuru took a deep breath.  
  
“An unconventional threat can only be resolved through unconventional means. Even with the vast resources at PSICOM’s disposal, we are not equipped to handle an incursion of Shadows on this broad a scale. A PSICOM agent, even one fully briefed on the otherworldly nature of his enemy, and equipped with the finest anti-Shadow weapons the Kirijo Group can develop, pales in comparison to someone with a true Gift.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, we meet now under extraordinary circumstances. But you are extraordinary people. You are Awakened. We have seen it for ourselves. Officer Niijima, your Gift led you to victory against a crowd of ghouls underneath Shibuya Station. Nurse Suzui, your Gift healed in moments what conventional medicine would have needed weeks to undo.”  
  
“Did it, now?” Tae murmured, intrigued. Her eyes met Shiho’s. “I wanna hear that story.”  
  
“And Miss Takamaki,” Mitsuru continued, “my agents saw firsthand the devastation your Gift was able to wreak upon an entire mob of Shadows. This power is not something that can be ignored. Thus, I propose a deal. I offer you the shelter of the Bunker, with all the security and comforts we can provide, for yourself, your families, and your loved ones. In exchange, I ask for your cooperation in our field operations as special combat assets. Lend us your strength against these incursions of Shadows, until Tokyo’s power is restored and this crisis has abated. That is my proposal.”  
  
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Ann whistled, long and low.    
  
“...This is… quite something to consider,” Haru said softly.  
  
“Yeah, no kiddin’,” Ryuji murmured.  
  
“I have a question,” Akira announced.  
  
“Yes?” Mitsuru asked.  
  
Akira cleared his throat, feeling eyes upon him. He met Mitsuru’s gaze.  
  
“What if I say ‘no’?”  
  
“Then you and your family are still welcome to take shelter here in the Bunker,” Mitsuru said. “I will not send you back onto the streets while Shadows are openly wandering the city. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. Frankly, we need you. And we are prepared to offer you… incentives… in order to secure your cooperation.”  
  
“‘Incentives’,” Akira echoed, a wary edge creeping into his tone.  
  
“Yes,” Mitsuru continued. “You will, of course, be amply compensated for-”  
  
“Now wait just a minute!” Sojiro snapped, rising to his feet.  
  
“Please sit down, Mr. Sakura.”  
  
“Is that an _order_ , Director Kirijo?”  
  
“Sit. Down.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Sojiro growled. “All this talk about ‘cooperation’ and ‘compensation’... you’re not just hiring a bunch of summer temps, here! You’re asking them to fight! You’re asking them to risk their lives! They’re just _kids_ , for god’s sake!”  
  
“Sojiro,” Sanae said softly, gently touching his hand. “I don’t think this is our decision to make.”  
  
“Respectfully, sir, we’re not kids anymore,” Makoto said. “Personally, I think we should do this. We have power. We have a responsibility to use it.”  
  
“Agreed,” Yusuke said.  
  
“Whoa, time out,” Ryuji grumbled. “You sure about this? Because, I dunno about you guys, but this feels an awful lot like getting drafted.”  
  
“The city is in danger,” Shiho said softly. “Do we really have a choice?”  
  
“We _always_ have a choice,” Akira said sharply.  
  
“Everyone, please,” Mitsuru said, raising a hand peaceably. “I will not ask you for an answer on such short notice. Discuss this amongst yourselves. Please, take all the time you need. Whether you join us or not, you will still be welcome to shelter here- but, as the situation on the surface changes, especially if this crisis escalates, I must urge you to make a decision sooner, rather than later.”  
  
Kikuno glanced at the tablet computer clutched to her chest, before leaning in and whispering something into Mitsuru’s ear behind a gloved hand. Mitsuru exhaled.  
  
“...My apologies, but there are matters that require my attention,” Mitsuru said. “As a show of good faith, I shall take the liberty of having Miss Yamagishi connect your cell phones to PSICOM’s private network. You will not be able to call someone outside of our circle, but you will at least be able to stay in touch with each other. Now, then. Please enjoy the rest of your meal, and the rest of your stay here. Know that while you are in these halls, you are safe. Take this time to think on what I have said and consider your answer. Until then, if you would excuse me…”  
  
Mitsuru nodded curtly to the assembled group. She turned and strode out the hall, her coattails flaring behind, her officers at her heels.  
  
~*~  
  
They dispersed throughout the Bunker, in pairs or in small clusters, Mitsuru’s offer weighing heavy over their heads. In her restlessness, Futaba found herself drawn, rather inevitably, to the command room- the vast space festooned with computer terminals and glowing neon lights, all gathered before the shining digital altar of the main screen.  
  
Futaba sat in a shadowed alcove, surrounded by the glare of computer monitors and a susurrus of voices speaking urgently into headsets. She took a deep breath, figuratively surrounded by streams of data. It felt… familiar, somehow. Like an old friend.  
  
Also surrounding Futaba, rather more literally, were Kana’s arms. She smiled, squeezing Kana’s arm looped around her waist, feeling her best friend nuzzle her cheek into the back of her neck. Kana didn’t live in Tokyo. She lived all the way in Kansai, and they didn’t see each other face-to-face as often as they would like. That meant they had to get their cuddle time in whenever they could, even now, deep underground, surrounded by government agents.  
  
Above them, on a raised platform overlooking the rows and rows of Operators, Mitsuru stood, watching the projected map of Tokyo move in real-time. She had her arms clasped neatly behind her back, gazing forward with a noble expression. Futaba wondered, idly, if Mitsuru made a deliberate effort to look so dramatic, or if it was something that just came naturally.  
  
Futaba’s gaze drifted down, to where PSICOM’s chief of communications, Fuuka Yamagishi, was sitting. Her workstation was a lot sparser and more mundane than those of her fellow Operators. She didn’t have a fancy headset, visor, or weird, shiny gloves. All she had was a desk lamp and a laptop.  
  
_That_ caught Futaba’s eye. She was running this place, wasn’t she? Why didn’t she have a big, clunky console like the other Operators? Either her job was different, and didn’t need all the extra hardware, or it meant her laptop could do everything the bigger consoles could, while still being sleek and compact.  
  
The very thought made Futaba lick her lips. When was the last time she’d built her own rig? She’d have to make a trip to Akihabara to pick up some parts, blackout be damned.  
  
“Oh man,” Futaba grinned. “I’d love to take a look under _her_ hood.”  
  
“Hm?” Kana peered over Futaba’s shoulder, following her eyes. “Oh! Oh, she’s pretty…”  
  
“I mean her computer, not her,” Futaba rolled her eyes. “Although, yeah, I guess she is pretty, if you’re into the mousey, nerd type.”  
  
“I know _I_ am,” Kana cooed.  
  
They curled up together in their little alcove, going unnoticed by the agents at work around them. Futaba squeezed Kana’s hand, and turned to face her. Their eyes met, glinting in the dim light. Futaba smoothed her knuckles across Kana’s cheek, before tipping her chin up, leaning in…  
  
Kana stifled a yelp as something buzzed against her thigh. She gave Futaba a sheepish, apologetic smile, before slipping out her phone. Her embarrassed expression soon made way for confusion.  
  
“‘Taba?” Kana wondered. “...Did you send me over a hundred texts?”  
  
Futaba blinked. “...Yes.”  
  
“ _Why?_ ”  
  
“I was anxious,” Futaba said, fidgeting. “I needed something to do with my hands, and I didn’t know where you were, and… I was worried.”  
  
Kana exhaled. She pressed her lips into a line, her eyes downcast.  
  
Futaba’s phone chirped. She tugged it out of her pocket.  
  
**_Kana_ ** _: Hey, player one._  
  
Their eyes met, briefly. Futaba frowned, and typed out her response.  
  
**_Futaba_ ** _: hey, player two. what’s up?_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: I know you told me about what happened all those years ago_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: but I guess it never really hit me until now_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: Are you really going to fight?_ _  
_ **_Futaba_ ** _: I have to, Kana_ _  
_ **_Futaba_ ** _: I have to do /something/_ _  
_ **_Futaba_ ** _: I’m not just going to wait around and hope this blackout just goes away_ _  
_ **_Futaba_ ** _: I’m not going to just stay out of the way while people who think they know better than me do all the work_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: I don’t want you to go._ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: I don’t want you to get hurt._ _  
_ **_Futaba_ ** _: I know_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: This place, the whole Men in Black thing they’ve got going on_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: Magic and monsters…_ _  
_ **_Kana_ ** _: It feels like a nightmare. It doesn’t feel real._  
  
Futaba set her phone aside. She took Kana’s hand, twining their fingers together. Futaba leaned in close, leaning her forehead against Kana’s. They held each other’s eyes in the dim light- deep violet and glassy blue.  
  
“This is real,” Futaba whispered, her breath ghosting across Kana’s lips. Kana shivered. They were so close. The only thing between them was an inch of hesitation… and then… and then-  
  
And then they parted, and Futaba’s bravado disappeared, and they were both sitting there, blushing fiercely, steam practically coming out of their ears.  
  
Five years together, and still they acted like schoolgirls in love. Akira would scoff.  
  
“Excuse me!”  
  
They jumped, clinging to each other. Agent Wen was glowering at them, tapping his foot.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said wearily. “The command room is off-limits to-”  
  
“ _Smoke bomb!_ ” Futaba screeched. She grabbed Kana by the hand and darted away, the two of them giggling all the while.  
  
~*~  
  
Ann and Yusuke were in the Bunker’s main atrium. Ann was leaning over the balcony rail, gazing out at the agents bustling past on the floors below, while Yusuke had his back to the rail, scrutinizing the PSICOM logo in its vast, tiled roundel.  
  
They made quite the picturesque duo, Ann looking out across the atrium, head held high, while Yusuke gazed pensively down at the floor. Fitting, for the model and the artist.  
  
Of course, then Futaba and Kana had to bolt out of the command room, cackling up a storm. Yusuke watched them go past, puzzled.  
  
“Somebody’s on an upswing,” Ann murmured, smiling. She nudged Yusuke’s elbow. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
“Aside from the obvious, you mean?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“This mosaic,” Yusuke said, pointing with his chin. “The PSICOM crest.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Ann smiled. “And what’s your artistic opinion?”  
  
“Tile is not one of my favored mediums,” Yusuke said. “That being said, I must admire the craftsmanship involved. Many small tiles, coming together to form a unified image, an organization greater than the sum of its parts… a stirring sentiment, to be sure. As for the design of the crest itself, well. It’s rather more straightforward than I would like. I mean, honestly. An eye and a keyhole, with the motto ‘pursuing potential’... It’s almost too obvious, the allusion to opening one’s eyes. To unlocking the truth.”  
  
“Or locking it away,” Ann offered.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Or locking it away,” Ann repeated. “Locking, unlocking… keyholes work both ways.”  
  
~*~  
  
There came a knock.  
  
“Come in,” Makoto called.  
  
Sae stepped into the room PSICOM had set aside for her, lingering by the door.  
  
“Good morning, Makoto,” Sae said, stiff.  
  
“Morning, Sis,” Makoto returned. She was sorting through the bag she’d taken with her from the hospital. Her badge, pistol, and police-issue radio had all been salvaged. Her baton, cuffs, and the rest of her uniform had all been lost to the murky depths of Shibuya Station.  
  
“How do they fit?” Sae asked.  
  
“About how you’d expect,” Makoto said, tugging at the hem of Sae’s borrowed blouse. “A little long in the arms, a little tight across the shoulders.”  
  
Sae nodded, but said nothing. Makoto glanced up at her, meeting her eyes for only a moment before Sae looked away.  
  
“I’m surprised I didn’t see you at breakfast,” Makoto said.  
  
“I already knew what the Director was going to say,” Sae said softly. “Have you made your decision?”  
  
“There’s no decision _to_ make,” Makoto said, adamant. “I won’t cower here, safe and sound, while there are ghouls stalking the streets. The city is in trouble, and PSICOM is asking me to do something about it. How could I ever say no?”  
  
“Naturally,” Sae nodded. “Duty calls… but…”  
  
“But what?”  
  
Sae met her eyes.  
  
“What if _I_ asked you not to go?”  
  
Makoto blinked. “What?”  
  
Sae opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“...Suzui told me what happened to you.”  
  
Makoto froze. She worked her jaw, a lump of fear rising in her throat.  
  
“...Sis… I- I’m sorry. Last night was so hectic, and I just- I never-”  
  
Sae swung the door shut with a click, silencing Makoto’s stammering, but doing little for her growing anxiety. Sae crossed the room in three long strides, and Makoto’s heart caught in her chest.  
  
Sae never hit her. Not once. But Sae had a temper like an iceberg- huge, mostly hidden, just waiting for that one crack that breaks a chunk into the sea and sends waves crashing for miles.  
  
Sae raised her hand. Makoto flinched, wondering if her near-death experience on the platform of Shibuya Station would be the crack that shattered the ice.  
  
And it was.  
  
Sae all-but yanked Makoto off her feet and into her arms.  
  
The gesture was so strange, so unfamiliar coming from Sae, that Makoto didn’t know what to do. She glanced up, stunned, watching Sae’s face twist into an anguished grimace. Sae blinked away hot tears, and they fell into Makoto’s hair, smoothed away by Sae’s palm against her scalp.  
  
Sae’s breath hitched, and she scowled, hating that the words couldn’t come, not even now, behind closed doors. They stuck in her throat, caught behind every choking gasp.  
  
But Makoto was a smart woman. The best in her class.  
  
Makoto understood. And while Sae stood there, clutching Makoto’s head to her chest, Makoto looped her arms around Sae’s waist. Makoto sighed into Sae’s collarbone and held her sister through every heaving sob, tears streaming into her hair like a glacier weeping in the sun.  
  
~*~  
  
It should have been a beautiful day.  
  
Sure, the breeze held a bit of an autumn chill, but the sun was bright and beautiful. Then again, the empty streets and the sound of distant, sporadic gunfire went a long way to dampening the mood.  
  
Akira took a deep breath. The air was tinged with the smell of smoke and burnt rubber, but it still felt fresher than the stifling air of the Bunker. He heaved a sigh and sank into a bench, combing his fingers through his hair.  
  
_Listen to me, kiddo_ , Sojiro’s voice echoed in his head from an hour ago. _I’m not saying you should bite the hand that feeds. All I’m saying is to be careful, alright? People have two hands, and sometimes that other hand is holding a knife._ _  
_  
Akira frowned, his thoughts lingering on Sojiro. After the whole mess with child services eight years ago- involving extortion and false claims of child abuse, both courtesy of Futaba’s shitheel of an uncle- Akira could hardly blame Sojiro for his mistrust of the government.  
  
But for now, it seemed, Akira was not PSICOM’s prisoner. Nobody stopped him from leaving the Bunker. In fact, nothing was stopping him from just picking up and leaving all this behind.  
  
_You would just run away?_ came a voice from within him. _Now, when you have the opportunity to grasp for power? You disappoint me, Trickster. Where is your conviction? Where is your resolve?_ _  
_ _  
_ Akira sighed.  
  
He could just leave. He could just walk away, and leave this crisis in the hands of those capable. He could leave, and get back to making a life of his own.  
  
Except that wasn’t true. Not at all. There were a dozen reasons why Akira couldn’t just leave, and they were underground, waiting for him. Out there, shambling through the city, were who knew how many more reasons he shouldn’t be wandering, alone, on the streets.  
  
Akira reached behind him, resting a hand on the hilt of the knife he kept strapped to his belt.  
  
Then his phone chirped, and he jumped, tugging it out of his pocket.  
  
_“Hey,”_ Ryuji said into his ear.  
  
“Hey,” Akira said. “How come our phones work?”  
  
_“The feds let us in on their private network, remember? Cool, huh?”_  
  
“Oh, right. I guess.”  
  
_“Where are you?”_  
  
“Outside,” Akira shrugged. “It was getting a little crowded down there. I wanted to be alone for a bit.”  
  
_“Did you want to be alone, or did you want to be_ **_alone_ ** _alone?”_  
  
Akira made a face. “...What’s the difference?”  
  
_“Well, one of them means ‘I actually want to be alone’,”_ Ryuji explained, _“and the other one’s ‘I’m gonna_ **_say_ ** _I want to be alone, but I still kinda hope my boyfriend follows me outta here’.”_  
  
Akira grinned. “Well, which is it, do you think?”  
  
“I dunno.”  
  
Ryuji casually draped an arm around Akira’s shoulders from behind, leaning his chin on the top of Akira’s head.  
  
“I kinda hope it’s the second one, though,” Ryuji grinned, “or else I’m gonna look _really_ dumb.”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi was losing her mind.  
  
No matter where she went, no matter what she did, she couldn’t get the glyph out of her head. She saw the obscene symbol everywhere she looked. She saw it drawn in wisps of cloud, in stretches of flickering shadow, in signs, graffiti, in the very whorls of her fingerprints. She saw it in motes of dust, caught in the sunlight. She saw it when she shut her eyes, a burning sigil of red lightning seared into her eyelids.  
  
Rationalization was Hifumi’s last hope. Despite the cool breeze, the sun was garishly bright. She was feeling hot, flushed. This was all just… delirium. Heat stroke. She should have some water. She should get inside, get out of the sun…  
  
But she couldn’t. Some compulsion, some mad impulse, kept her from retreating indoors. And that wouldn’t have been such a problem if the streets were still empty.  
  
People were gathering. They trickled down side streets one by one, forming pairs, clusters, mobs. Every one of them had a distant, vacant look in their eyes. Every one of them was wearing red. And as the parade grew, the ominous sound of their shuffling footsteps was joined by clapping, drumbeats, and discordant litany of chanting voices.  
  
Hifumi clung to the lip of an alleyway, watching the procession move past. Even now, she saw the mark- in the rustle of clothing, in the tangled silhouette of hundreds of people marching together. The crowd was lit, not just by the garish sun, but the flickering light of crude torches- and a familiar, murky red.  
  
Hifumi heard the crackling coming from the rooftops. She knew she shouldn’t look. But she saw the light of the glyphs shining down upon the procession, and she felt herself yearning to see them, to gaze upon their infernal secrets and catch a glimpse of the truth.  
  
What she caught, instead, was a glimpse of the man with the cloak, cane, and dove-gray suit, standing in an alley of his own and watching the crowd move past.  
  
_Turn back_ , he mouthed.  
  
Hifumi recoiled as if slapped.  
  
Hifumi staggered down the alley away from the parade, her breath coming in trembling gasps. Every part of her wanted to look, to follow, to march. Every part of her, except one.  
  
That lone voice, raised in protest, pushed her forward, away from the crowd. She had to fight for every step, her muscles aching, her impulses resisting. She raised an arm and drew her sleeve across her brow. The dark spot of sweat she left on the fabric precisely formed the mark of the glyph.  
  
Hifumi took another step, reaching out to brace herself against a brick wall. The lines of the mortar twisted and coiled until they, too, formed the shape of the glyph.  
  
Hifumi’s legs felt like jelly. She took one more step, and then her legs crumpled beneath her. She fell to her knees in the street, kicking up dust where she fell.  
  
The dust drifted through the air, forming the mark of the glyph in a hundred tiny swirls.  
  
Hifumi shuddered. She closed her eyes, blinking away tears, and saw the poisonous sigil inscribed on the back of her eyelids.  
  
Hifumi clapped a hand over her mouth and began to shake.  
  
~*~  
  
“Hey. Hey!”  
  
Hifumi shivered in Akira’s arms- a dreadful echo of last night. He held her, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes, but all she could do was gaze past him, eerily distant and unresponsive.  
  
“What happened to her?” Ryuji hissed, urgent.  
  
“I don’t know,” Akira grit his teeth, feeling useless. If only they’d had Shiho, or Tae…  
  
“Aw, fuck,” Ryuji shook his head. “This shit’s Makoto all over again…”  
  
Hifumi jolted forward with a gasp, Akira just barely holding her down. She turned and studied the two of them, her eyes flickering between recognition and that distant, unfocused look.  
  
“Akira,” Hifumi choked out. “Where’s Makoto? Where are your sisters?”  
  
“They’re fine. They’re safe,” Akira squeezed her hand. “But let’s worry about you. What’s going on, Hifumi? What happened?”  
  
“It’s the mark,” Hifumi seethed. She reached up and clutched her head. “Don’t look at the mark…”  
  
“The what?”  
  
Akira saw them coming, out of the corner of his eye. A pack of ghouls, dressed in tatters of red clothing, closing in around them. Akira grit his teeth, reaching behind him and drawing his knife. A ghoul broke off from the pack and charged, mouth open in a snarl-  
  
Ryuji smashed the ghoul’s skull with a swing of his bat, hurling the headless corpse down the street.  
  
“Y’all better back the fuck up!” Ryuji yelled, haloed in an aura of azure flame. “I’ll hit you pricks right outta the park!”  
  
The ghouls charged forward, heedless, and Ryuji made good on his threat- pulverizing skulls and torsos with superhuman strength, ablaze with the light of loyalty and courage. Ryuji made short work of the ghouls, each swing of his bat echoing down the street like crashing thunder. He turned and flashed Akira a thumbs up.  
  
“Piece of cake,” Ryuji grinned, and Akira grinned back.  
  
That was, until he saw the poisonous red light fill the street behind him, and Akira knew exactly what mark Hifumi had seen.  
  
The glyph shone with crimson light, its luminous form shivering like coiled snakes. It formed a words in the air in a language that made Akira’s skin crawl, an unholy language he hoped he’d never understand. The glyph shone like a hateful, dying star, burning the mark of madness into the eyes of all who beheld it.  
  
But this glyph did more than loom and observe. It shrieked, emitting a horrid squeal like claws on wet glass.  
  
The tangle of coiling red light expanded into a ring of frothing, shivering lightning-  
  
-and out of the light, an angel stepped through.  
  
Black wings. Dark, greasy hair. Skin a sickly, clammy gray. A crest of black iron framing his back. A cloak of living shadow long enough to dust the ground as he walked.  
  
“No,” Ryuji seethed, his jaw tight. “We killed you…!”  
  
Mastema, The Stained Angel, only smiled a smug smile.  
  
“The LORD will remake me as many times as He sees fit.”  
  
Mastema splayed his palms, a black sigil appearing at his fingertips. A wave of darkness swept out of his cloak and shot down the street like a bullet train.  
  
There was a sound like crashing thunder, and the wave of darkness exploded into tatters of ink and tar. Ryuji stood sentinel over Akira and Hifumi behind him, ablaze with blue fire, his bat trailing wisps of black smoke.  
  
Ryuji glowered at Mastema, even through the angel’s dirty blindfold. Mastema tutted.  
  
“Now, now,” Mastema said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t you stand between me and my lovely little prize…”  
  
Ryuji glanced over his shoulder at Hifumi, cradled in Akira’s arms.  
  
“...You sick son of a bitch,” Ryuji snarled. “You tried to steal Shiho all those years ago, and look what the fuck that got you! Like hell I’d let you pull that same shit again!”  
  
Mastema took a deep breath and shook his head. He raised a hand.  
  
“Hubris,” Mastema said.  
  
A wave of darkness shot across the ground and smashed into Ryuji’s chest. The wave slammed Ryuji back against a brick storefront. He gasped, winded, his arms pinned to his chest.  
  
Akira stood, spinning his knife in his hands. If it worked for Makoto… if it worked for Ryuji…  
  
A wave of darkness shot Akira’s way. He saw it coming, and he was ready for it. His knife flashed in his hands-  
  
-and scraped uselessly off the mass of shadow.  
  
“What?” Akira gasped, before the wave slammed the wind out of his lungs. It coiled around him like a giant fist made of living darkness, and smashed him against the wall beside Ryuji, his head cracking against the brick so hard he blacked out for a split-second.  
  
Akira tasted iron in his mouth, and felt blood in his nose. He weakly lifted his head, dazed, his vision blurring. All he could see was shapes, shadows-  
  
-and a wisp of blue fire that could have been a butterfly.  
  
Hifumi pulled herself, unsteady, to her feet. She was clutching her head, her eyes wild.  
  
A plume of darkness shot across the ground to claim her. Hifumi raised a hand-  
  
The wave of darkness stopped in its tracks.  
  
It reared up, as if in confusion, frothing and bubbling. It shivered and convulsed, and then it abruptly burst- exploding into a spray of ink and black mist.  
  
But then, right behind it, came a second wave that swept Hifumi off her feet and slammed her against the wall.  
  
Akira cringed as Hifumi slammed to rest beside him, fighting against the slimy, otherworldly grip of the living shadow binding him in place. Mastema watched them, amused, toying with his prey. On Akira’s left, Ryuji bellowed out a roar of frustration as he fought to get free.  
  
Mastema approached, savoring each step. When he finally reached the wall, he delicately tipped Hifumi’s chin up so she was looking at him.  
  
Then he splayed his hand over her eyes, and Hifumi started to scream.  
  
“Hifumi!” Akira hissed, but the darkness pinning him in place only squeezed him tighter. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to summon the familiar spread of cards to his mind’s eye, calling out into the void…  
  
_Come forth! Satanael! Satanael, where are you? Answer me! Arsene! Anyone!_ _  
_ _  
_ The abyss loomed around him, empty, inscrutable. Nothing. There was nothing, and no one, to hear his call.  
  
“Why…?” Akira choked out. He watched, helpless, as Hifumi squirmed beneath Mastema’s spell, droplets of inky darkness staining her eyes…  
  
There was a flash of brilliant white, and Akira could breathe again.  
  
Akira and Ryuji fell to their knees on the pavement, gasping for breath. Hifumi shuddered and curled up into a ball, clutching her head, screwing her eyes shut. Akira lifted his head, his vision refocusing.  
  
There was a woman in the street, floating just above the ground. She was dressed all in red, and a large metal crest lay draped over her shoulders and looped around her back like a ribbon, or a cloak. Her crest shone, iridescent in the suddenly brilliant sunlight.  
  
At an unspoken command, the woman lifted her white-gloved hands. A halo of golden light appeared at her fingertips, eight points around its rim shining like stars.  
  
Mastema growled, forming a magic circle between his fingers.  
  
He couldn’t even get a shot off. Eight beams of luminous golden light crashed into him with explosive force, skipping him down the street like a stone across a pond.  
  
Mastema got to his feet, his cloak tattered and weeping smoke. He snarled out a wordless curse, spread his wings, and fled.  
  
The woman in red turned towards the trio. She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed, before dissipating into wisps of azure flame, gathering into a rectangle of blue light that drifted slowly out of the air.  
  
A gloved hand plucked the card out of the air and slipped it reverently into the pages of a book.  
  
“Trickster,” Lavenza said, Morgana beside her. “I’ve found you at last.”  
  
“Lavenza,” Akira breathed.  
  
Hifumi’s voice snapped Akira out of his awed daze. He crawled over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Hifumi whimpered, shivering, as if in the throes of a nightmare.  
  
There were a thousand questions Akira could have asked- about the blackout, about his Personae, about the Shadows roaming the city- but in that moment, only one came to mind.  
  
“Lavenza,” Akira echoed, his voice shaking. His grip tightened around Hifumi’s shoulder. “Can you help her?”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance** :
> 
> "The Faceless King wears four masks. Four aspects, four generals of his will..."
> 
> "My lord, the faithful are gathered. The service is about to begin..."
> 
> "...The first of these four generals is the Aspect of Dogma."
> 
> "Brothers and sisters, pledge yourselves to the Pact-"
> 
> "Director! We've detected a major manifestation in the vicinity of Yoyogi Park!"
> 
> "...until our souls sleep..."
> 
> "It can't be... those horns... those eyes..."
> 
> "...and our bodies burn..."
> 
> "This is an order! All units, prepare for combat immediately! _Immediately!_ "
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time on **The Second Renaissance: The Father of Death**.


	6. The Father of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mastema, the Stained Angel, has returned. The secret war rages on, both on the streets of Tokyo and in the poisoned halls of Hifumi’s mind. As the sun sets on the first full day of the Tokyo Blackout, the Thieves regroup, Lavenza brings answers, and PSICOM holds the line.
> 
> The past does not stay in the past. And the future is anything but certain. 
> 
> The World is changing.
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _How do you leave the past behind_   
>  _When it keeps finding ways to get to your heart?_
> 
> Everyone, welcome back to The Second Renaissance. I apologize for the delay- life was happening. But I do hope this chapter proves to be worth the wait. Thank you all for sticking with me this far. I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^

_~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s supposed to rain at funerals._ _  
_ _  
_ _That’s how it always is in the movies. It’s supposed to rain, and everyone would be huddled together in their coats, under a cluster of umbrellas and a dreary gray sky. It just seems right, the rain. Like the world is mourning right along with you._ _  
_ _  
_ _Instead, today is hot, and stuffy, and the sun is garishly bright._ _  
_ _  
_ _The world endures. Life goes on._ _  
_ _  
_ _Even when you don’t want to._ _  
_ _  
_ _Aigis turns and studies her companions with a trained, practiced eye, clinging to duty to escape her grief. She’s decided, stubbornly, that she’s not going to cry. Right now, for the sake of the group, she will simply be a machine._ _  
_ _  
_ _The truth is, she’s afraid to start crying. If she starts crying now, she isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop._ _  
_ _  
_ _Yukari, beside her, takes in a shuddering breath. Yukari’s all out of tears. She’s already spent them all- in her room, in the church, in the car on the way here. Now her grief settles in her chest like a stone, a knot in her throat that she just can’t clear._ _  
_ _  
_ _The young man beside her fidgets, trailing his fingertips over the fuzz of his short, close-cropped hair. It’s strange, seeing him without a hat on._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I feel like…” he begins, breaking the suffocating silence. “I feel like we should… I dunno. Say somethin’.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The seconds tick by, agonizingly slow. One of them speaks up- another young man, corded with lean muscle, his hair prematurely white._ _  
_ _  
_ _“He was a good guy,” he says. He nods to the neighboring plot. “He’s… he’s with Shinji, now. Here, and… wherever he is.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A girl stands apart from the group, a black ribbon in her auburn hair. A rose falls from her shaking fingers, and into the open grave. She turns, and Yukari sucks in a breath._ _  
_ _  
_ _She is beautiful, even in her grief. Yukari wonders if, under different circumstances, they could have been friends. In another time. In another life…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“We weren’t close,” the girl says, swiping a sleeve across her eyes. “The two of us, I mean. We called. We’d write, occasionally. But after Mom and Dad died, just seeing each other was too… too painful. He told me about you. But he didn’t tell me he was sick. If I had known, I…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She trails off. She takes a shaky breath, and meets their eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Thank you. All of you. I wasn’t there for him when he needed it, but… I’m glad he had you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Yukari’s breath hitches. She bows her head, her shoulders shaking._ _  
_ _  
_ _Mitsuru’s gaze is distant, and her arms are crossed. Still, she brushes an arm against Yukari’s. They lean into one another, murmuring._ _  
_ _  
_ _Aigis can’t look. The grief is too raw, too close, too… human._ _  
_ _  
_ _So Aigis doesn’t look. And she doesn’t cry. She lifts her head above the circle of mourners and towards the garish sun, and stares, unblinking, into the light._ _  
_ _  
_ ~*~  
  
Now, as then, Aigis stood, staring into the light. Shibuya Station Square was packed with the press of bodies moving through Shibuya Crossing. It was mid-afternoon, peak hours for foot traffic, and the afternoon rush was coming in- now, as then, as it always has.  
  
But then again, today was hardly the usual 9 to 5 crowd.  
  
“Open fire!”  
  
A staccato of gunfire erupted around her, swallowing up Aigis’ shouted command. Ghouls shrieked and shredded apart into clouds of roiling black smoke. They came from below, climbing up the steps from the Shibuya Underground. They marched out into the square, with the blaze of muzzle flash before them, hellish red light behind.  
  
Dozens fell. Hundreds, even.  
  
Still, they came.  
  
They dragged their broken bodies forward, hateful red eyes shining through the smoke. Anxious murmurs rippled across the JSDF troopers manning the barricade, the fear in their voices almost, but not quite, drowned out by the battle.  
  
“What are they?”  
  
“Zombies? Seriously…?”  
  
“Th-They won’t stay down…”  
  
A ghoul burst out of the smoke and sprinted for the barricade, screeching a horrid, berserk shriek as it came. It ran, trailing inky darkness with each step, a hateful red light burning in its empty eyes. A section of the JSDF barricade recoiled, troopers shouting in alarm. The creature took a running leap and landed in a crouch just before the sandbag wall. Its legs coiled beneath it. It _pounced_ -  
  
Aigis caught it by the ankle and hurled it down the street. The ghoul skipped along the pavement like a stone across a pond, its clawed limbs scrabbling for purchase. It sniffed and lifted its gaze, setting its sights on its new prey. It charged forward, hurtling towards Aigis in a sprinting leap.  
  
Aigis stepped aside, held out her arm, and let the ghoul shatter its own neck against the crook of her elbow. The broken corpse, carried by momentum, slammed into the barricade and went still.  
  
A young JSDF trooper stared at the unmoving ghoul at the foot of his sandbag wall. He looked up, torn between awe and terror, between the horde of monsters clawing their way out of the depths- and Aigis, standing tall amidst the murky red light, coat billowing in the wind.  
  
“Do not be afraid,” Aigis said.  
  
“Are you kidding?!” the youth blurted out, before he could stop himself. “We can’t beat them!”  
  
“No,” Aigis admitted, shaking her head, “you can’t.”  
  
Aigis turned. She stood, alone, between the men at the barricade- clutching their rifles too tight, hunting for targets in the smoke- and the swelling mob of inhuman bodies, waiting and eager to crash into them like a tidal wave.  
  
“Not with these weapons. Not against Shadows,” Aigis said. “But you _can_ hold them here. These monsters you see before you are not human- but they are still governed by laws, laws that can be exploited. Laws of anatomy- of hunting. Destroy the legs, and they’ll have to crawl. Destroy the arms, and they’ll have to bite. Destroy the head, and they **will** stay down. They can bleed, and they can break.”  
  
A shout of alarm rang down the square. Aigis turned, coat flaring in the wind, and saw the next wave of ghouls come bearing down.  
  
“Grenades!” Aigis barked.  
  
A volley of grenades whistled past Aigis and into the ghouls’ front lines with a thumping hiss. A moment later, a string of explosions rippled across the square. The strobing detonations pulsed and flashed in the smoke, like cameras in a stadium crowd. The charge collapsed in on itself, the blood-hungry back ranks groping and stumbling, knee-deep in the maimed and ruined corpses of their kin.  
  
Already, a second wave was massing to attack. Aigis heard the click and rattle of weapons beside her, of rifle magazines slotting into place, of grenades clacking into their tubes.  
  
The stairwell down into Shibuya Station loomed across the square, a gaping maw spitting ranks of Shadows onto the streets. Aigis glowered, and gazed, unblinking, into the hellish red light.  
  
The chittering, babbling mob charged forward with an inhuman shriek.  
  
“All units!” Aigis called, her voice ringing above the din. “Hold this line and _deny them!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
While combat rumbled above them like distant thunder, the Bunker was eerily quiet.  
  
Akira and Ryuji had carried Hifumi’s unconscious, shivering form back into PSICOM custody. Lavenza immediately pulled up a chair and spent an hour tracing luminous patterns onto Hifumi’s forehead and temples, while anxious Agents stood ready in the corners of the room, their hands lingering by their holsters.  
  
Lavenza was not human. And she was powerful- powerful enough to make PSICOM nervous. Still, they stood back and allowed her to tend to Hifumi, for what little good that was able to do.  
  
The minutes ticked by. Eventually, Lavenza pulled her hands away, huffing in frustration. She shook her head, sighed, and stepped out. Morgana, in his human guise, followed her.  
  
Makoto lingered by Hifumi’s bedside, her brow furrowed in thought. There was a dark mark on Hifumi’s cheek, like an ink stain or a tattoo. It swam just beneath her skin, changing, coiling- a mirror of the twisting, obscene glyph she’d encountered on the city streets.  
  
Makoto gently took Hifumi’s hand, smoothing her thumb over her knuckles. She reached up and delicately brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Hifumi was warm, feverish, but she shivered, nonetheless. She tossed and turned in her sleep, mewling and gasping in pain, shuddering, as if in the throes of a nightmare.  
  
“Lavenza can only dull the pain,” Akira said, behind her. “She says she’s not strong enough to break the, uh… I guess you’d call it a ‘curse’.”  
  
Makoto nodded. Slowly, gently, she squeezed Hifumi’s hand.  
  
Hifumi was more than a friend. Makoto wasn’t sure what, exactly. But Hifumi was something. A maybe. An almost.  
  
“Who’s responsible for this?” Makoto seethed, her jaw tight.  
  
A pause. The stigma on Hifumi’s cheek slithered and coiled beneath her skin.  
  
“Mastema,” Akira said.  
  
Makoto looked up sharply. “ _Mastema?_ ”  
  
Akira nodded, grave.  
  
“Get everyone together. We need a Thieves meeting. Right now.”  
  
~*~  
  
Futaba’s phone buzzed. Kana wriggled around on her lap so she could reach into her pocket. Futaba just curled her arms around Kana’s waist and squeezed. Futaba’s phone kept on buzzing against her hip.  
  
“Someone’s calling,” Kana murmured into her throat.  
  
“Meh,” Futaba mumbled. “It’s ‘us’ time.”  
  
While Futaba and Kana were busy having a cuddle, Sojiro lingered across the lounge. He was standing, arms crossed, muscles wound tight. He reached down and briefly patted the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, before sighing and crossing his arms again.  
  
Sojiro raised two fingers to his lips and mimed the act of smoking, just trying to settle his nerves.  
  
“Y’know, if you wanted to light up, I doubt anybody would stop you,” Sanae said, beside him.  
  
Sojiro mumbled a non-reply. He took another draw of his imaginary cigarette.  
  
“Aww, what’s wrong, Soji?” Sanae teased. “Stressed out?”  
  
Sojiro barked out a bitter laugh. “You can say that. You mean to tell me you aren’t?”  
  
“Well, sure, but I’m not just gonna stand around and gripe about it,” Sanae smiled. She mimed plucking Sojiro’s cigarette out of his fingers and snuffing it out beneath her boot.  
  
“Hey,” Sojiro protested, the hint of a smile on his face. “I wasn’t done with that.”  
  
“C’mon, Soji. How about some coffee? You occasionally enjoy the stuff, if I remember right,” Sanae grinned. “We could go get some, if you want. Or you could stay here and be a sourpuss.”  
  
Sojiro chuckled. “Alright, alright. But it had better not be any of that instant, K-cup swill...”  
  
Across the room, there was a buzz in Kana’s pocket. Kana pulled out her phone and answered it, despite Futaba flailing and whining in protest.  
  
“Hey, bro,” Kana said brightly. “Yeah, Taba’s right here with me.”  
  
Futaba accepted Kana’s phone with a sigh.  
  
“What do you want? It’s Kana time.”  
  
A pause. A pout. A grumble.  
  
“...Alright. I’ll be right there…”  
  
~*~  
  
For the third time, the horde of Shadows pushed out of the depths of Shibuya Station.  
  
For the third time, the garrison at the Shibuya barricade pushed them back.  
  
The waves of Shadows issuing forth from underground were getting more and more frequent. But the line of JSDF troopers manning the Shibuya barricade did not falter.  
  
It was as Aigis said; the enemy, otherworldly as they were, could still bleed, and they could still break. Shibuya Crossing was swiftly becoming a mire, ankle deep with the twitching corpses of ghouls. Some of the ghouls, slain by headshots or utterly destroyed by explosives, melted back into tar and treacly black blood, filling the street with a swamplike ooze. The rest- broken and mangled, but still shrieking, still stubbornly dragging themselves towards their prey- jutted out of the ooze, like the exposed roots of trees rising above the mire.  
  
The ammunition expenditure was immense. Already, Aigis had had to call in a supply truck to restock munitions. In the lull between waves, troopers broke off from the line to top themselves off with rifle rounds and, more importantly, grenades.  
  
A pair of troopers hauled an ammo crate over to their heavy .50, mounted on a tripod in the center of the barricade. Aigis watched as they pulled the belt of high-caliber ammo out of its crate and secured it to the feeder on the side of their mounted gun.  
  
The Shibuya barricade was holding, and had done so so far with zero casualties- but only because they had the firepower and the ammunition to spare, and only because the barricade was an ideal defensive position. Once their supplies were spent… once the troopers’ courage finally faltered…  
  
How long would they be able to keep this up?  
  
“Chief Aigis,” Caryn called out behind her. “You’d better come look at this.”  
  
Aigis turned to the JSDF Captain- a meek, unassuming man in his thirties, who’d likely seen more combat at this barricade than he had across the rest of his career.  
  
“Captain Fukui,” Aigis said. “Can you handle this?”  
  
Fukui stood up straight. “Yes, ma’am!”  
  
Aigis stepped into the monitoring station set up some distance behind the barricade. It was little more than a tent, with a radio mast poking up through the canvas roof, an underlit display table, and cables running outside to a portable generator, fitfully chugging away.  
  
Caryn Sabangan followed at Aigis’ heels, while Hui Lam studied the display table, a miniature version of the real-time map of Tokyo projected on the command room wall in the Bunker. They were the ones tasked with escorting Yukari and Ann to safety last night- Shepherd Unit. They, along with Aigis’ personal detail, Shield Unit, were responsible for overseeing the barricades and coordinating the defense by the JSDF.  
  
“We have a problem,” Agent Lam said, his droopy face giving him a permanently sad expression.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
Lam tapped at the display. A luminous blue marker highlighted their current position at Shibuya Station. To the east, highlighted in violet, was the National Diet Building- the above-ground entrance to the Bunker. To the northeast of that was Kanda Station, highlighted in red.  
  
“We’ve lost contact with the Kanda barricade,” Lam reported, his mouth tight and unhappy. “They missed their scheduled check-in, and they’re not responding over comms.”  
  
Lam traced a luminous path on the display. He went west from Kanda Station to a point due north of the Shibuya barricade.  
  
“Furthermore, the scanner’s picked up a psychic distortion north of us, at Yoyogi Park. Embedded sources report a large group marching west from Kanda Station, converging on the distortion point.”  
  
“Shadows?” Aigis asked.  
  
“Some,” Caryn shrugged, beside her. “We picked up a handful of readings. But mainly it’s just people- civilians. Like a big parade, or a protest.”  
  
“Kanda barricade has been compromised,” Lam muttered. “And now, it looks like we have a riot on our hands.”  
  
“A riot… or a ritual,” Aigis frowned. “Shepherd unit, hold this position. Support Captain Fukui and his platoon to the best of your ability. I will investigate.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.” Lam said. He blinked. “Do you need a scope, or-”  
  
Aigis stepped out of the tent, coiled her legs beneath her, and jumped. She left the ground with superhuman force, rocketing skyward. Caryn watched her go, stars in her eyes. Lam, beside her, only shook his head.  
  
“...I hate it when she does that,” he grumbled.  
  
Aigis landed on a nearby rooftop, disengaging the jump rockets in the soles of her feet. She strode over to the edge of the roof, coat billowing in the wind. Perched like a gargoyle on her new vantage point, Aigis gazed north, her eyes whirring.  
  
Yoyogi Park came into focus in Aigis’ enhanced vision. A crowd was, indeed, gathering, some wearing the telltale red hoods of the Firepact, others simply hapless Tokyoites, blank-eyed and staring. Aigis saw black-winged Shadows bearing shields and spears, wearing antiquated crimson armor, like Roman legionaries of old. Drifting above the crowd, like shining balloons, were strange, pulsing symbols that stirred an odd sensation in Aigis’ heart, but left the rest of her machine body unfazed.  
  
Aigis hummed thoughtfully. Her eyes clicked, capturing images for study.  
  
At the head of the crowd, there was another black-winged figure, cloaked in shadow over a robe of dirty white. Beside him were two other men- a priest in red, fingers covered in brass rings, and a man wearing a dark cloak over a dove-gray suit.  
  
Click. Click. Click.  
  
“Operator,” Aigis said, into empty air.  
  
_“Read you, Shield Leader.”_  
  
“Patch me through to the Director.”  
  
A pause. Another click.  
  
_“This is Director Kirijo.”_  
  
“Mitsuru,” Aigis said, her voice as close to ‘warm’ as she ever got. “I am uploading a number of images to Fuuka’s terminal. Tell me what you make of this…”  
  
~*~  
  
_Eight years ago. The Sunken Cathedral._ _  
_ _  
_ _Mastema, The Stained Angel, stands at the altar beside his lovely bride- a woman who looks just like Shiho, only her eyes are an eerie gold. He takes her hands and draws back her veil, in a gesture approaching tenderness. Then he holds a hand before her eyes and she goes stiff, her gaze fixed on his palm, spots of inky darkness flickering across the whites of her eyes…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Vow to me,” Mastema intones, as Shadow Shiho whimpers in his grasp. “Vow that I shall be the one whom you love, honor, and obey.”_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
When Akira told her, Shiho staggered back as if she’d been shot.  
  
She slumped onto a couch, eyes downcast, with Ann and Makoto on either side. She reached out and found their hands, taking a long, slow breath. She lifted her head and caught Haru’s eyes across the room. Haru didn’t know who this man was; not specifically. But Shiho’s expression was one she knew well- shock, hurt, and an unwelcome reunion.  
  
She hadn’t been present when Mastema held his ceremony- at the time, she’d been held captive atop the Sunken Cathedral’s belltower. But she felt the echo of her Shadow’s pain and fear, the revulsion, and, eventually, resignation…  
  
...and now, Hifumi was experiencing the same. Or worse.  
  
“Mastema…” Shiho breathed. Ann and Makoto squeezed her hands.  
  
While Haru’s eyes were warm with sympathy, Futaba’s eyes twinkled, curious. Eight years ago, when Mastema kidnapped Shiho and tried to brainwash her Shadow to do his bidding, Haru and Futaba hadn’t yet joined the team. Futaba, to her credit, was trying her best not to just blurt out her wonder at what the big deal was.  
  
“Mastema’s back,” Akira said, “and just like last time, he’s messing with people’s heads.”  
  
“What did he do to Hifumi?” Makoto asked, her jaw tight.  
  
“We don’t know,” Ryuji said. “He just put his hand over her eyes and did some magic shit. Maybe it was like what he did with Shiho’s Shadow?”  
  
“How dreadful,” Yusuke muttered.  
  
Akira sighed. “Whatever it is, Lavenza can’t fix it, and she’s stronger than any of us.”  
  
“You flatter me, Trickster.”  
  
Lavenza appeared in the conference room doorway, and all eyes were drawn to her. She strode inside, elegant, regal, her long silver hair flaring behind her as she walked. She radiated power and poise, though she wore the face of a child.  
  
It was only fitting, Futaba thought. On TV, goddesses are always little girls.  
  
Morgana, in his human guise, followed Lavenza inside. He reverted into cat form in a flash of yellow light, promptly taking up residence on Haru’s lap. Haru was delighted.  
  
“Oh, who’s a sleepy boy? Who’s a sleepy, fluffy boy?” Haru cooed, scratching Morgana’s head.  
  
“Walking around on two feet takes a lot out of me, okay?” Morgana muttered, leaning into Haru’s touch regardless.  
  
“Please forgive the intrusion,” Lavenza said, bowing primly. “May I join you all?”  
  
“Of course,” Akira said.  
  
“Lavenza,” Makoto said, meeting the girl’s eerie golden eyes. “What do you know about this?”  
  
~*~  
  
The Firepact marched to Yoyogi Park, gathering followers as they went. Armored angels with black-feathered wings ushered the crowd along, an inky nothing where their eyes should have been. Some members of the crowd bore torches; others clapped their hands and sang discordant hymns. The majority of the crowd were as blank-eyed as their angelic escorts, staring straight ahead as if in a trance.  
  
The crowd grew, one by one. That morning, Yoshida had urged the people of Tokyo to stay at home. But the glyphs, shining like comets, lured potential converts back out into the street, catching their eyes and their hearts like a fishhook of coiled lightning.  
  
Father Cyrus stood on the raised stage of a band shell that he’d chosen as his pulpit. He opened his arms and drank in the sheer size of the crowd arrayed before him, giddy with laughter.  
  
“It’s finally time,” he laughed. “After all these years, it’s finally time…!”  
  
He turned to his companion, a dour-faced man in a dove-gray suit and a dark cloak draped over his shoulders. Cyrus prodded him with an elbow.  
  
“What’s the matter? You’re not excited?”  
  
“I am, I am,” he nodded. “I was just thinking…”  
  
He glimpsed black feathers out of the corner of his eye, and sniffed.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me, Cyrus, I have some business to attend to…”  
  
He turned and stepped down off the stage without another word.  
  
“Well, hurry back! You don’t want to miss it!” Cyrus called after him, as he vanished into the crowd.  
  
Mastema stepped forward, his long cloak dusting the ground as he walked. He stood before the thronging crowd, gazing out across the sea of faces, and the cherry trees framing the scene. As he understood it, this park was a popular destination for flower viewing. Thousands of people would come here and admire the cherry blossoms, only in bloom for two weeks out of the entire year, marveling at the beauty and transience of life.  
  
A fitting backdrop, Mastema thought. Every year, thousands of people came here to acknowledge the fleeting nature of mortality. Tonight, he would give them a monument to mortality far greater than a mere cherry tree.  
  
Cyrus sidled up next to him, bowing low.  
  
Mastema acknowledged him with the barest tip of his head, before turning out to survey his new congregation. Rows of glyphs flanked the crowd, hovering above them, like rows of streetlamps without their posts. He had sent them out in search of worthy pawns, and instead, every hapless Tokyoite with a scrap of potential had joined the crowd in their march to this park, following the glyphs’ hypnotic gleam.  
  
“My lord, the faithful are gathered,” Cyrus was saying. “The service is about to begin…”  
  
Mastema nodded, studying the crowd. None of these people were the quality of servant he desired. Certainly, none were as promising as the girl he’d seen earlier that afternoon. But as he gazed out across the crowd, gathered here by the dozens, by the hundreds…  
  
Mastema’s lips curled into a wicked smile.  
  
It seemed like quantity had a quality all its own.  
  
~*~  
  
“My friends,” Lavenza began, “as I’m sure you have gathered by now, humanity is at war. Your enemy is an entity known as Nyarlathotep. He is the Crawling Chaos; the Faceless King; the Malice of Mankind. The first shots were not fired here, at your barricades, but between worlds, in The Velvet Room.”  
  
Akira stared at her. “The Velvet Room was attacked? Is that… even possible…?”  
  
Lavenza withdrew the silver key from her pocket, tied with a blue ribbon.  
  
“Observe,” she said. “Open to the Velvet Room.”  
  
An outline of a door drew itself in the air. It wavered, before emitting a squealing shriek and collapsing in on itself, leaving a glowing scar hovering at chest height. Lavenza pressed her lips into a line, tucking the key away.  
  
“The Velvet Room has been lost,” Lavenza announced, grim. “Following my Master’s orders, I fled, bearing your Compendium and the last of the Velvet Keys. My Master, and my siblings, fought the Faceless King. ...What befell them after that, I do not know.”  
  
A somber quiet fell across the room. Akira’s fingers twitched, as if to reach out, but he pulled away.  
  
“I do not know why the Faceless King desires this war with your kind,” Lavenza continued. “Perhaps it is simply in his nature to hate, to destroy. But I believe that my Master’s clash with him delayed his coming, and forced him to send his servants in his stead…”  
  
“Hold on, hold on,” Ryuji spoke up. “First of all, props to Igor for apparently being a huge badass. But what about the people turning into Shadows? And why can we suddenly use our powers in the real world?”  
  
Morgana snorted, if a cat could be said to snort. “You say that as if ours is any less real.”  
  
Lavenza smiled, despite everything. “The Metaverse, the cognitive world, the collective unconsciousness, the sea of souls… call it what you will. I, myself, prefer to call it The Dreaming. And, I assure you, it is very, very real…”  
  
~*~  
  
In the Bunker infirmary, Hifumi still had yet to regain consciousness. She slept fitfully, tossing, turning, murmuring under her breath, gasping out half-formed sobs.  
  
Kana sat at her bedside, holding Hifumi’s hand through the throes of her nightmares. Kana rubbed circles into Hifumi’s knuckles with her thumb. Hifumi’s forehead beaded with sweat and radiated a feverish heat, but her hands were clammy and cold.  
  
“Mako and Taba have got some interesting friends, huh, Fumi?” Kana said softly. “...Honestly, I can’t say this is how I wanted to spend my surprise visit to Tokyo…”  
  
Kana exhaled. Outside, an Agent paused at the door, poked their head inside for a moment, and then resumed their patrol.  
  
“We’re in too deep,” Kana said, squeezing Hifumi’s hand. “We’re in over our heads, Fumi. Makoto and Futaba have the government asking them to step up and fight zombies- zombies! -and here I am, just wondering when we’ll get our electricity back and things will go back to normal…”  
  
Kana curled a lock of Hifumi’s hair behind her ear. Her fingers brushed against a chain, and Kana caught a glimpse of silver- a cross around Hifumi’s neck. She frowned, pensive.  
  
“...I don’t want to fight,” Kana said. She took a shaky breath. “But I don’t want to stay behind, either. How can I? How can I stay, safe and sound, while Makoto and Futaba are out fighting for the city? They’re so brave, and I’m just… I’m so…”  
  
Kana sniffled. She swiped her sleeve across her eyes, looking away.  
  
“I hate this,” Kana seethed, her eyes wet. “I don’t want any of this. Magic and monsters, the whole Men in Black thing… I just want to wake up tomorrow and have a normal day. None of this feels real. This feels like a dream, or a nightmare.”  
  
Kana sighed, and shook her head.  
  
“I just want to… wake up.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Imagine two flat planes, parallel to each other,” Lavenza said, holding her palms flat, one atop the other, “like so. These two planes are the Dreaming and the Real- reflections of one another, separated by a space between. Now, if these two planes were perfectly flat, the distance between them would remain constant. But they are not flat- they have highs and lows, wrinkles and distortions, metaphysical mountains and valleys. It is at the sites of these distortions that the distance between Reality and the Dreaming grows thin- and the influence of one realm bleeds into another.”  
  
“Like creating a Palace,” Yusuke offered.  
  
“Or causing a blackout,” Lavenza nodded. “The clash between my Master and The Faceless King was a distortion of such magnitude that its aftershocks were felt here, in your world. The initial blast disabled Tokyo’s power grid. But the ripples are still being felt. The tides ebb and flow. And when the tide comes in, and the distance between our worlds wears thin, that is when the Faceless King’s servants come through.”  
  
“Okay, but what about people becoming Shadows?” Makoto pressed. “And why have we been able to channel our Personas, if not summon them outright?”  
  
“What is a Persona but a tamed Shadow?” Lavenza asked. “All power is born of the collective unconsciousness, of humanity’s psychic gestalt- the power of the mind. But there are myriad ways that power can be accessed, and myriad forms it can take when you do. The form you are most familiar with, the power of Persona? Myself, my siblings, and my Master- we have all elected to teach a particular technique. But that does not mean others do not exist.”  
  
“But your way works best then, huh?” Ann chimed in. “It’s the most reliable?”  
  
“How does it work?” Akira asked, with a twinge of hesitation only Ryuji could see.  
  
“I am a servant of humanity’s goodwill,” Lavenza intoned. “My siblings, my Master, and my Master’s master, have guided humanity to their potential along a very particular road. Anyone can form a Shadow. But to truly harness the power within you, to lift that hidden part of yourself up to the light and face it unafraid…”  
  
Lavenza’s eyes flashed with an otherworldly light.  
  
“...There are two keys to the power of Persona. Compassion, and conviction. To wield a Persona in the name of goodwill, and to be truly Awake… you must love thy neighbor. And you must know thyself.”  
  
Lavenza scanned the room, studying everyone’s expressions. When she met Akira’s eyes, he cleared his throat and looked away.  
  
“I am a servant of humanity’s goodwill,” Lavenza echoed. “I am one who presides over power. I watch over every heart that aches with sympathy; every soul that cries out for justice in righteous anger; every mind that wishes happiness on someone else’s behalf. In these moments of charity, of loyalty, of affection, of justice, I am with you, and my power- your power- is with you, as well.”  
  
Lavenza met their eyes in turn- Makoto. Shiho. Ann. Futaba. Ryuji. Her lips curled into a proud smile.  
  
“Through you, I have seen what power love and loyalty can bring forth,” Lavenza said. Her smile curled into a grimace. “...But there are other sources of power. And those who draw on these sources do so through vastly different means…”  
  
~*~  
  
“Brothers and sisters,” Cyrus said, his voice ringing across the square. “We have waited so long for this day. And now, at last, the time has finally come.”  
  
The Firepact cheered and roared out their approval, while their newest members, the proselytes, stared blankly, silently, ahead. Cyrus lifted a hand for quiet.  
  
“After what we have seen today, how can there be any doubt? Our faith has shone through! We stand here, in the company of angels, before the Firebrand himself!”  
  
Cyrus presented Mastema to the crowd, his voice booming with praise.  
  
“Behold, our Firebrand! The Great Fire has come, as we have always said it would! It has come to swallow us up from below! It shall set us all alight!”  
  
The crowd roared. Mastema smiled.  
  
_If only they knew._  
  
~*~  
  
_Yukari finds herself struck by the sudden, absurd thought that her eyes are beautiful, even in her anger. Even in her grief._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Is this some kind of joke?” the other woman demands, and Yukari falters, swallows hard._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No,” Yukari says, her jaw tight. “I swear, it’s true.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You come to my doorstep with an outrageous story like that? Magic and monsters? The end of the world? What the hell are you thinking?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I know how this must sound,” Yukari pleads, “but you have to believe me-”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“What’s there to believe?!” She snaps. “That the Kirijo Group did some mad scientist bullshit and unleashed monsters on the city? That_ **_you’re_ ** _the reason my parents died on the Moonlight Bridge? That you’re the reason my brother-”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Your brother is a hero,” Mitsuru murmurs beside her, the first thing she’s said all evening._ _  
_ _  
_ _“My brother is dead!” She seethes, stabbing an accusing finger towards Mitsuru. “Because of_ **_you_ ** _. Because he joined your little club to clean up_ **_your_ ** _father’s mistakes!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Mitsuru bites her lip, but says nothing. She meets Yukari’s eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _The other woman stares them down, eyes wet with furious tears._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You did this,” she snarls. “You got him involved. You might as well have killed him yourself!"_  
  
~*~  
  
Yukari sighed, leaning against the wall. She was in her uniform, her PSICOM coat draped across her arms. She looked sharp- dressed to kill. But her distant expression, and the way she hugged her coat to her chest, made her look young, vulnerable.  
  
Framed on the wall before her was a portrait of a young man, his hair so dark it was almost blue in the right light. He gazed wistfully past the viewer, his hair swept across his right eye.  
  
It was the first thing everyone saw when they entered the Bunker, even before the huge multi-tiered atrium and the vast roundel bearing the PSICOM seal. Just a small, humble, framed painting, with a metal plaque underneath.

 

 _Minato Arisato  
_ _1992 - 2010  
_ _To Whom All Humanity Lies Indebted_

 

Yukari sighed, meeting Minato’s sad blue eyes, remembering…

  
~*~  
  
_“Thank you, Kiku,” Mitsuru murmurs, eyes downcast, as Kikuno holds the door for them. She slips into the backseat, Yukari sliding in beside her. Kikuno shuts their door, reappearing behind the wheel a moment later._ _  
_ _  
_ _“That went about as well as expected,” Mitsuru says, the closest she ever gets to saying ‘I told you so’._ _  
_ _  
_ _“She deserved to know the truth,” Yukari insists._ _  
_ _  
_ _“She deserves her family back,” Mitsuru shakes her head. “Can_ **_you_ ** _give it to her?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Yukari sighs, gazing out the window at Minako’s door, shut in their faces._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I can’t even imagine what she’s going through…” Yukari murmurs, somber._ _  
_ _  
_ _She feels an elbow nudge against hers._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Can’t you?” Mitsuru asks, softly._ _  
_ _  
_ _Their eyes meet in the backseat of Mitsuru’s company car, for just a moment too long._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Where to, Miss Kirijo?” Kikuno asks. “Shall we return to the estate?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Mitsuru looks up, catches Kikuno’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Beside her, she feels Yukari take her hand. Gently, without any fuss, Mitsuru twines their fingers together._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, Kiku,” Mitsuru breathes. “Drive. Just… drive.”_  
  
~*~  
  
Yukari felt a presence beside her. She turned, and caught a glimpse of red eyes- not Mitsuru’s, and not Minako’s, stained with anger and grief, but Sae’s. And, in that moment, despite all the other things on her mind, Yukari was struck by a sudden, absurd thought:  
  
She’d always had a thing for red eyes.  
  
“Who was he?” Sae asked, nodding to Minato’s portrait.  
  
Yukari exhaled.  
  
“A friend.”  
  
~*~  
  
“My Master has delayed Nyarlathotep from attacking this world personally,” Lavenza was saying. “He is our opposite; our Shadow, in a manner of speaking. Our dark reflection. And as my Master has four trusted servants, so, too, does the Faceless King.”  
  
Futaba was barely listening. She was fidgeting in her chair, rubbing at her eyes. She kept seeing flickers of blue in the corners of her vision- kept hearing ghostly whispers in her ear…  
  
_You’re awake! ...Wait… what’s wrong? Say something… Hey! Are you-_  
  
“You okay?” Akira whispered. Futaba shook her head.  
  
That voice. She knew that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere...  
  
“The Faceless King wears four masks,” Lavenza continued. “Four aspects, four generals of his will. The first of these four generals is the Aspect of Dogma-”  
  
A sudden alarm blared through the Bunker. Lavenza jumped, startled. The whole room sat up, gazing upwards. Hazard lights bathed the group in flashing yellow.  
  
“What the hell?” Ryuji wondered.  
  
“Are we under attack?” Haru squeaked.  
  
Futaba staggered to her feet, clutching her head. Akira placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Hey,” Akira hissed, urgent. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Shut up!” Futaba snapped, voices swimming in her head. “Shut up, shut up!”  
  
Another voice joined the rising chorus- this one a frantic, crackling voice over the Bunker intercom.  
  
“Security breach!” they called out. “Security breach, infirmary level!”  
  
Futaba was overcome by a sudden, awful clarity. She shoved Akira’s hand away.  
  
“What- Futaba!” Akira called, but she was already running, Makoto close behind.  
  
~*~  
  
“I repeat- we have a security breach in the infirmary-”  
  
Agent Wen recoiled as a knife-like obsidian shard embedded itself in the intercom. He rolled into cover behind a hospital bed, rising into a crouch. He drew his pistol and took aim, two-handed.  
  
“Get on the ground!” He demanded, staring down his pistol’s iron sights. “Get on the ground, now!”  
  
Hifumi would do no such thing. She floated just above the ground, clutching her temples in agony, framed by an aura of sickly red flame. Her aura abruptly flickered and faded, and she stumbled forward. She leaned her head against the wall, breathing hard, feverish sweat dripping down her brow.  
  
“Fumi!” Kana pleaded, tentatively peering out from behind a trolley table laden with medical instruments. “Fumi, talk to me…!”  
  
“Kid, don’t!” Wen cried.  
  
“Kana...” Hifumi choked out.  
  
The stigma swam beneath the skin of her cheek, shining with a toxic red light.  
  
“Kana,” Hifumi gasped. Her voice echoed strangely in the enclosed space. “Kana. You have to get away…”  
  
Hifumi convulsed, screaming in pain. She clamped a hand around her pendant and tore the chain free, sizzling and smoking in her grasp. She hissed in frustration and hurled it across the room.  
  
Wen ducked. Hifumi’s cross spattered against the wall behind him, trailing globs of molten silver.  
  
Hifumi’s aura returned in full force, staining the air a hellish red. She clutched her head, whimpering. Her eyes flickered between deep green and a furious crimson, the whites of her eyes spotted with inky black. The stigma shone on her cheek, glowing fire-red like a brand. Locks of her long hair rose in her aura’s otherworldly wind. They twisted above her head, coiling and fusing into what looked, for all the world, like horns.  
  
Black fire manifested in her palm. Hifumi made a fist, and the darkness flattened itself into a trio of obsidian shards, held between her fingers like throwing knives.  
  
There was a loud bang as the infirmary door slammed open against the wall, and Futaba and Makoto came bursting through.  
  
“Taba!” Kana gasped. She turned towards the door-  
  
Hifumi closed an arm around Kana’s shoulders and held her blades to Kana’s throat.  
  
“Nobody move,” came a rasping, sensual purr. It spoke through Hifumi’s mouth, but it wasn’t Hifumi. Not at all.  
  
Makoto froze. She clamped a hand around Futaba’s wrist so she wouldn’t do anything reckless.  
  
Wen rose to his feet, his aim unwavering.  
  
“Drop her,” Wen said, his voice as cold as ice. “Whoever you are. _Whatever_ you are. Drop. The girl. Now.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Director, we have a situation in the-”  
  
“I know. Handle it, Kiku. Please.”  
  
Kikuno nodded, saluted, and hurried away. Mitsuru marched down the steps from the command room balcony, to where Fuuka was waiting, an armful of documents tucked under her arm.  
  
“What do you have for me, Fuuka?” Mitsuru asked.  
  
“I went over the data Aigis uploaded. I compared it to past readings, all the way back through our records…” Fuuka winced. Her smile was tight and unhappy. “I found a match. The closest psychic signature to the distortion we’re tracking today. March 31st, 2010.”  
  
Mitsuru closed her eyes and breathed out a curse.  
  
“Director!” A voice called out from the rows and rows of Operators toiling below her. “We’ve detected a major manifestation in the vicinity of Yoyogi Park!”  
  
“Director, incoming call from Shield Leader!”  
  
“Put her on!” Mitsuru barked.  
  
_“Director Kirijo. I have eyes on the target. I am ready for optical sync.”_  
  
“Show me,” Mitsuru said.  
  
The main screen of the command room blanked out for a moment, before being replaced by a live feed from Aigis’ optics. She was perched on a rooftop overlooking Yoyogi Park. Her vision filled with inky darkness and shining, hateful red eyes.  
  
Mitsuru went pale. She heard the flutter of Fuuka dropping her papers across the floor, clapping her hands over her mouth in shock.  
  
Those horns… those eyes…  
  
“Speaker!” Mitsuru demanded, fear tinging her voice.  
  
She snatched the intercom mic out of Fuuka’s trembling hands.  
  
“This is an order!” Mitsuru cried. “All units, prepare for combat immediately! _Immediately!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ “Brothers and sisters!” Cyrus proclaimed, his voice ringing across the park as the sun began to set, framing the sky in red and gold. “Lift up your hearts!”  
  
They gazed upon him, by the dozens, by the hundreds, each one giving him their rapt attention- whether they wanted to or not. Even Mastema watched him, a bemused smirk on his lips. Cyrus felt a swell of pride in his chest- never before had he had a congregation like this.  
  
Cyrus opened his arms and lifted his face to the sky, eyes closed in rapture. He did not see the shadow of wings fall across his form.  
  
“Pledge yourselves to the Pact,” Cyrus intoned. “Until our souls sleep, and our bodies burn…”  
  
Cyrus jerked, feeling a searing pain in the middle of his spine. He gazed down, his hands clutching dumbly, rings clattering on his fingers. A spire of living shadow transfixed his chest.  
  
“Now burn,” Mastema said, smiling, as he threw Cyrus’ corpse into the crowd.  
  
All at once, the glyphs hovering above the congregation exploded into brilliant arcs of crimson lightning. Tendrils of scarlet light tore through the crowd, the intense heat setting clothes, grass, and trees ablaze. People screamed. They convulsed.  
  
They died.  
  
It was a brief, but brilliant, massacre. The red-hooded cultists of the Firepact died enraptured; those who joined the crowd, entranced by the glyphs, simply died. They died, their bodies seizing and convulsing, their faces twisting in pain, fear, despair, disbelief. They gave the world one last rueful smile before the hellish lightning storm melted the flesh from their bones.  
  
From one moment to the next, Yoyogi Park became a mass grave.  
  
As the last of the scorched, cooked bodies crumpled to the blackened ground, the array of glyphs shone, linked together by bands of lightning, perfectly forming the mark of the stigma on a grand scale. Then, as one, the tangle of corpses dissolved into blood and tar, gathering together into the center of the enormous magic circle.  
  
Mastema opened his arms and lifted his head skyward, a mockery of his hapless mortal servant, so eager to die for him. Mastema laughed in delight, watching as the mass of inky darkness took shape before him- a skeletal, four-legged form, vaguely canine in nature, with two horned heads, one on either side. Its gargantuan form rose above him, five storeys high, towering over the treetops still charred black from the lightning storm.  
  
Mastema cackled, giddy, as his blank-eyed soldiers drew up beside him, shields and spears at the ready.  
  
“You see? You see?!” Mastema asked one of his troopers. The red-armored Power simply stared vacantly ahead, an inky nothing where his eyes should have been.  
  
Mastema’s lips split into a wicked grin, as he gazed up at the monstrosity looming above him.  
  
“Now, this…” Mastema chuckled. “... _this_ is a worthy pawn.”  
  
The sun had fully set. Smoke swirled around him. Mastema stood, surrounded by the horrific remnants of his ritual. A magic circle, inscribed in crimson lightning, a macabre connect-the-dots picture of shining red glyphs, lay burned in the blackened soil of Yoyogi Park. Ashes and embers drifted through the air, carrying the scent of charred bones, cooked flesh. The stench of death.  
  
Mastema breathed deep, and let out a satisfied sigh.  
  
Above him, Erebus, the Father of Death, lifted its heads and howled.  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance:**
> 
> “Drop her! Drop the girl!”
> 
> “Oh, dear. This is a pickle, isn’t it?”
> 
> “Who are you?”
> 
> “He’s a… friend. Sort of.”
> 
> “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘expert’.”
> 
> “I’ll find you. I’ll find you, and I’ll set you free! I swear it!”
> 
> “I can hear her inside me… I can hear a voice, calling…”
> 
> “Fumi… this is going to sound weird, but… I can hear her, too.”
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time, on **The Second Renaissance: Rogue.**


	7. Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hifumi has been infected- tainted. Stained. And while she fights for control of her own body, a much larger battle rages across Shibuya Crossing. Erebus, the Father of Death, has been called forth by a horrific mass sacrifice. He has tasted the death of humanity, and now he will not stop until he eats his fill. 
> 
> In the growing storm, there are those who stand together, and those who stand alone. 
> 
> The World is changing.
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There is a fire that will burn through the streets of the city_   
>  _And we will stand in the light_   
>  _We will stand in the light, you and I..._

_~*~_ _  
_ _  
_ Everywhere, the dead smiled at her.  
  
Shibuya Crossing was packed with bodies- not the hundreds-strong pedestrian crowds it was famous for, but ghouls, staring and broken, in some places piled almost knee-deep. Their corpses, grinning eerily, empty-eyed and dripping tar, mingled with uniformed JSDF casualties- men who had died screaming, faces twisted in terror, only to slump to the ground as if asleep, smiling, serene.  
  
The sun had set, but the darkness of the Tokyo Blackout was held at bay by curtains of fire, Shibuya Crossing blazing like the warzone it had become. In the flickering firelight, crimson and gold, flesh took on a gilded quality. Men looked like statues, like carved figures on a victory arch. They looked like heroes.  
  
For a few hours, they had felt like heroes. The JSDF garrison manning the Shibuya barricade had held the line against every wave of shrieking undead that had come clawing out of the station’s depths.  
  
Then the daemon had appeared, black as night, hatred burning in its eyes, and all notions of bravery and heroism crumbled like car wrecks beneath the monster’s footsteps.  
  
The beast smiled at her, too. Not the tranquil smiles of JSDF troops, freed from their bloody struggle, but the gleeful, cruel smile of a predator looking forward to its next meal.  
  
Aigis stood and stared him down, the skeletal, red-eyed, fifty-foot-tall nightmare from years and years ago. He was bigger than she remembered. Uglier, too.  
  
Erebus, the Father of Death, opened its twin mouths and howled.  
  
Its heads promptly vanished in clouds of smoke and flame.  
  
A wall of gunfire slammed into the beast’s side, its shadowy hide puckering and deforming under the weight of fire. Rockets lanced upwards on pillars of smoke. Rifle grenades whistled and thumped. Dozens of explosions strobed through a gathering cloud of black smoke and spraying tar.  
  
Erebus took a step forwards, its form still smoking. One of its heads shuddered, before vomiting a mass of inky black ooze into the street. It smoldered and stank like molten asphalt, and for a moment, Aigis wondered if they’d hurt it enough for it to cough up blood.  
  
Down the line of the barricade, JSDF troopers quietly ejected their spent cartridges and loaded fresh ones, rockets and rifle grenades clicking back into place.  
  
The pool of tar spread before them until it filled the width of the street. It began to change- into hands- into arms…  
  
Erebus lifted its twin heads and let out a howl that shook the night sky. Across the city, countless ghouls answered its thunderous call with shrieks of their own.  
  
“Fix blades!” Aigis called, through the rising chorus. “Fix blades!”  
  
Voices called out, relaying her order down the line. The trooper immediately beside her met her eyes for just a moment, before reaching down, drawing his knife-form bayonet, and fixing it to his rifle with a metallic snap. Across the barricade, Aigis silently watched a two-man team fix a fresh belt of ammunition to their heavy, mounted gun.  
  
She turned and fixed her eyes forward, her lips pressed into a grim line. Erebus’ red eyes shone through the smoke, its skeletal faces fixed in permanent, wicked grins.  
  
Erebus howled. The mob of ghouls shrieked and surged forward, hungry for blood.  
  
Aigis and the JSDF met the charge head-on.  
  
~*~  
  
The Bunker command room was equally furious with activity. The air filled with a chorus of anxious voices, relaying orders, snapping out reports. A luminous map of Tokyo filled the main screen, dotted with points of red that glowed like lit coals.  
  
Mitsuru leaned over the balcony, clutching the rail so hard her knuckles were white. Fuuka lingered nearby, hugging a tablet computer to her chest.  
  
Mitsuru took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Status report,” she said, numb.  
  
“Shibuya barricade is under attack,” Fuuka said, as calmly as she could manage. “Other barricades have also reported major engagements- Shinjuku, Ginza, Ikebukuro, Ueno. They’re facing ghouls in much greater numbers than the skirmishes this morning. It’s as if he’s… calling them. For the moment, Aigis is holding him at Shibuya Crossing, but…”  
  
Fuuka trailed off. Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand over Mitsuru’s.  
  
Mitsuru exhaled, looking up.  
  
“Fourteen years,” she said softly. “Almost half a lifetime ago. Fourteen years, and now Erebus is here, impossibly, in the real world, and I don’t know if we can stop him again.”  
  
“We’ll find a way,” Fuuka breathed, like a prayer. Mitsuru met her eyes, and almost smiled. Almost.  
  
Yoshida cleared his throat, behind them. Mitsuru turned and acknowledged him with a nod.  
  
“I just got off the line with JSDF High Command,” Yoshida said. “Reinforcements are on their way. Specifically, I looked into getting some armour sent to Shibuya barricade. I thought Chief Aigis could use a unit of tanks.”  
  
“That’s a start,” Mitsuru nodded. “Fuuka, assemble strike teams Hammer and Phoenix. I want them ready to deploy in ten minutes.”  
  
“Ma’am.”  
  
“Director Yoshida,” Mitsuru looked to him. “Coordinate the defense and the evacuation of Shibuya ward. Get the people to safety. If Shibuya barricade falls, the district goes with it.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Fuuka looked up suddenly, a hand reaching for her earpiece.  
  
“Mitsuru? Dr. Maxwell is looking for you,” she said.  
  
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Mitsuru said, turning to leave.  
  
“Where are you going?” Yoshida asked.  
  
“Director Yoshida, the Bunker is yours,” Mitsuru called over her shoulder. “I’m going to find my sword.”  
  
~*~  
  
While the command room was a storm of activity, the infirmary was deathly still.  
  
Makoto stood, frozen, in the doorway, her hand tight around Futaba’s wrist. Across from them stood their dark reflection- a landscape hanging inverted in a murky pool. Hifumi, or at least, whoever or whatever was wearing Hifumi’s skin, shrouded in red fire, a hand clamped around Kana’s throat. Their eyes met, both red, both gleaming, but Makoto’s were naturally red, and her eyes glinted with anguish- while Hifumi’s eyes, mirroring the stigma on her cheek, shone with a hellish red light.  
  
“Drop her!” Agent Wen demanded, his pistol raised. “Drop the girl!”  
  
“Leave us,” Hifumi said, her voice wavering between a sensual purr and something helplessly small. “Let me go…”  
  
Hifumi’s aura flickered and guttered, like a candle in a strong wind. She shuddered, wisps of red flame winking in and out of sight.  
  
“Fumi…” Futaba pleaded, reaching out.  
  
Hifumi’s aura abruptly flared back to life. She snarled, clutching Kana tighter to her chest, three knife-like obsidian shards held like claws against her throat.  
  
“Drop her, now!” Wen shouted.  
  
“D-Don’t shoot…!” Kana squeaked out, trembling.  
  
Makoto shot Wen a sidelong glance. She hissed.  
  
“Put that down.”  
  
Wen glanced at her, adjusting his grip on his pistol. “It’s a Stinger. Stun rounds.”  
  
“I know,” Makoto muttered, “but do you really want to electrocute someone with a knife to a girl’s neck?”  
  
“...Point,” Wen grumbled.  
  
“Taba…!” Kana whimpered.  
  
“I’m right here, Kana!” Futaba said, hating that words were all she could offer.  
  
“Taba… Mako…” Kana gasped, crying with fear. “... _help me…!_ ”  
  
“Oh, dear. This _is_ a pickle, isn’t it?”  
  
A man emerged from the shadows. He appeared, impossibly, out of a crook in the corner that seemed too small to hold a man, materializing as if from smoke. A man, in a dove-gray, three-piece suit, with a dark cloak draped across his shoulders.  
  
“You,” Hifumi breathed.  
  
Makoto watched him, wary. She sensed a presence beside her, and saw Kikuno Saikawa, Director Kirijo’s aide, stop in the doorway beside her.  
  
“Doctor?” Kikuno wondered.  
  
“‘Doctor’?” Makoto echoed.  
  
“Stand down, Mr. Wen,” the man said, acknowledging Wen with a nod. “We’re letting them go.”  
  
“What?!” Wen hissed. “On whose authority?”  
  
“On my own, and on that of the fact that if we do not, this young lady is perfectly capable of killing everyone in this room,” he said. He smiled. “...Including, I hate to admit it, myself. Though, I may at least have the privilege of dying last.”  
  
No one else in the infirmary seemed to share his good humor. Hifumi, especially, glowered at him, her eyes flickering like hot coals.  
  
“You’re letting us go…?” Hifumi asked, dubious, her voice echoing.  
  
“Yes,” the man replied.  
  
He drew back his cloak and raised a cane, beautifully made from dark, lacquered wood. A pair of serpents coiled up the haft in etched silver. He tapped his cane against the ground, echoing strangely against the infirmary’s tile floor.  
  
Shadows gathered at his feet, rising into an oval of shifting darkness. Through the cloud of ink and smoke, an image formed- that of an empty alleyway, lit crimson and gold by the glow of distant fires.  
  
“Go on,” the man said, nodding to the portal. “I’ll even hold the door for you.”  
  
“Who says chivalry is dead?” Wen muttered under his breath.  
  
Hifumi shuffled warily towards the portal, Kana in tow.  
  
Makoto watched, helpless. She worked her jaw, but said nothing. Futaba gritted her teeth.  
  
“I’ll find you!” Futaba blurted out. “I’ll find you, and set you free! I swear it!”  
  
Hifumi and Kana stepped through the portal. Darkness coiled around them like smoke, and they disappeared.  
  
Futaba shrieked and stamped her foot in impotent frustration. She shot the man an acid look, before wrenching her arm out of Makoto’s grip and storming away.  
  
Makoto exhaled. She glanced at the man, slipping his cane beneath his cloak.  
  
“You really let them go,” Makoto said.  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Better to find them later, than lose them now,” he said, stroking his beard. “You and your friend have my sympathy. Frankly, however, we have a much bigger problem to deal with.”  
  
“How big are we talking?”  
  
The man smiled ruefully.  
  
“Oh, I’d say about five storeys high…”  
  
~*~  
  
“Hammer Squad, stand ready!”  
  
Labrys barked the order, the twang of her Kansai accent swallowed up by the Bunker’s blaring klaxons. Her unit snapped to attention with a clatter of weapons and kit.  
  
“Hammer Squad, ready to deploy, sir!”  
  
“Move out!”  
  
Labrys turned on her heel and led them down the corridor, her uniform coat flaring out behind her. Their tromping boots echoed like a heartbeat down the Bunker’s halls- frenetic, racing, throbbing in your ears. The Bunker thrummed with the sounds of battle- with the nauseating surge of adrenaline, fear, anticipation.  
  
Mitsuru paid it little mind. She pushed aside the sound of Hammer Squad marching past her door. She pushed aside her doubts, her fears, her worries and anxieties. She pushed aside her racing thoughts, and pulled on her armor.  
  
She shimmied into her reinforced, skin-tight catsuit, tailor-made for her by the Kirijo Group. It was made of a synthetic material that fit her like a glove, rated for protection against fire, shrapnel, blades, small arms fire, blunt trauma… it also served as exceptional motorcycle armor, although Kiku was always quick to remind her that such cutting-edge equipment wasn’t meant for ‘recreational use’.  
  
Mitsuru scooped up her uniform coat, slung over the back of a chair alongside her discarded uniform shirt and pants. She shrugged it on over her catsuit, adjusting her collar, her cuffs. She raised her service pistol, checked the load, the safety, before slipping it into the holster at her waist. Lower, slung across her hip, was her sword belt. She glanced up to the overhead rack above her locker and furrowed a brow.  
  
“Looking for this?”  
  
Mitsuru turned.  
  
Sae was standing before her, a sword lying across her outstretched hands. It was a rapier, with a cross-guard and ornate basket hilt, gleaming silver in the room’s dim light.  
  
It was, by all rights, a magnificent weapon. But Mitsuru wasn’t looking at the sword. She was looking at her.  
  
Their wine-red eyes met and lingered on each other, as Mitsuru gently took the sword from Sae’s grasp and slid it into its sheath. Mitsuru took Sae’s hand, brushing a gloved knuckle against the taller woman’s cheek.  
  
“You’re going into the field,” Sae said. It wasn’t a question.  
  
“Yes,” Mitsuru murmured.  
  
Sae nodded. “Be safe,” she said.  
  
Mitsuru smirked. “Is that an order?”  
  
“You’re the Director. I can’t give you orders,” Sae said.  
  
“You can in here,” Mitsuru purred. She leaned in and captured Sae’s lips in a soft, dignified kiss.  
  
“...Come back to me,” Sae breathed, as their lips parted.  
  
“I will,” Mitsuru said. “I promise.”  
  
“Mitsuru?”  
  
The voice came from the doorway. Sae quietly took a step back, untangling her fingers from Mitsuru’s. Mitsuru exhaled, calling out the door.  
  
“...Yes, Miss Takeba?’  
  
Yukari appeared in the doorway, abruptly realizing she was interrupting. She cleared her throat, staring past Mitsuru and Sae to a point on the far wall.  
  
“...Excuse me, Director,” Yukari winced. “Phoenix Squad is assembled and ready to deploy.”  
  
“Understood,” Mitsuru nodded. She met Sae’s eyes, briefly, before striding out the door, gently brushing against Yukari as she went past.  
  
Sae folded her arms across her chest. She exhaled, her eyes distant. For a moment, just a moment, she met Yukari’s eyes.  
  
Yukari flinched. “I… I’m sorry-”  
  
“Don’t,” Sae said. She took a deep breath and sighed. “Just… take care of her. Please.”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi and Kana stepped out into an alleyway, black smoke curling around their feet. The portal, a curtain of ink and black velvet, pulled shut behind them.  
  
Hifumi shuddered. The obsidian shards fell from between her fingers and clattered on the street like broken glass. She shoved Kana away.  
  
Kana took two stumbling steps forward, tripping over the curb. She scraped her shin on the pavement, welcoming the tiny, impertinent pain over the horrifying press of blades against her throat. She turned, and saw Hifumi sink to her knees in the street, clutching at her head, at the stigma swimming beneath the skin of her cheek.  
  
“Fumi…?” Kana wondered.  
  
“Get away,” Hifumi growled. Her aura flickered around her. “Get away from me, Kana! It isn’t… it isn’t safe…”  
  
Kana stared at her, cast in the ruddy glow of Hifumi’s aura before her and the scattered fires of the city behind. Embers flicked through the air like fireflies. Flecks of ash drifted down like snow.  
  
Hifumi’s aura surged again, and she gasped, clutching her head.  
  
“Please!” Hifumi gasped. Obsidian blades flickered between her fingers. “Kana, please… I… I don’t want to hurt you…!”  
  
Kana swallowed hard.  
  
“I know,” Kana said softly. “That’s why I’m staying. This isn’t you, Fumi. And I’m not leaving you alone with the thing in your head that thinks this is.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Who are you?” Makoto asked. She was keeping pace with Kikuno, Wen, and the cloaked man. The party was moving with a purpose, just shy of breaking into a run.  
  
“He is a friend,” Kikuno said. She shrugged. “...Sort of.”  
  
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘expert’,” the man replied. His cane clacked sharply against the tile floor, and his cloak flared out behind him as he walked. “I am, or was, God rest him, a friend of Takeharu Kirijo- Director Kirijo’s late father. I assisted the Kirijo Group in their research on Shadows, long before PSICOM was even a twinkle in Mitsuru’s eyes.”  
  
“So you’re a scientist, then?” Makoto asked.  
  
“I never said ‘scientist’,” he smiled. “Officer Niijima, I am Dr. Brennan Maxwell. I came here from overseas- though I’m sure you gathered that.”  
  
Makoto did. Maxwell’s Japanese was overly formal, pompous, condescending. Makoto had yet to decide whether that was due to an incomplete grasp of the language, or if Maxwell was just kind of an asshole.  
  
“So if you’re not a scientist, then what are you?” Makoto asked.  
  
“He could, charitably, be called an ‘occultist’,” Kikuno offered.  
  
“And uncharitably?”  
  
Maxwell smiled.  
  
“Sorcerer.”  
  
Makoto gave him an odd look, but his smile promptly vanished. They had re-emerged onto the command level. In the corner, Makoto could see a fuming Futaba burying her head in Akira’s chest. They were standing in the doorway to the conference room, the other Thieves lingering in the atrium nearby.  
  
“Excuse me!” Maxwell called, drawing a dozen curious gazes to him like a moth to a flame. “You are all Director Kirijo’s guests, yes? Well, gather ‘round, all of you. It’s time for you to know exactly who it is you’re fighting…”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi stalked through the streets of Tokyo on unsteady feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Kana followed warily at her heels, just out of arms’ reach. Hifumi glanced up at the street signs, her eyes flickering in and out of focus.  
  
“Almost there…” Hifumi took a shuddering breath. “...Almost there…”  
  
“Where are we going?” Kana asked, but Hifumi pushed on without saying another word.  
  
Kana trudged silently after Hifumi for several blocks, the streets ominously empty. Shuttered storefronts and blinded windows stared down at them from every side. The ruddy glow of the distant skyline was lit up with bright flashes through the smoke, flashing lightning and shattering thunder. Kana wondered if there was a storm coming.  
  
Kana abruptly realized that it wasn’t a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. It was a battle, explosions flashing like lightning and shivering the air like thunder.  
  
The thought stopped Kana in her tracks. She swayed, dizzy, feeling eyes upon her. She wondered if they were the frightened eyes of the people, peeking out through their blinds, wondering why Kana was on the street when they’d been ordered to stay inside, wondering who her companion was, blazing with an inhuman, hellish red light. She wondered if they were the eyes of houses staring blankly down, empty after their occupants fled to safety.  
  
She wondered if they were the eyes of the dead, smiling ruefully at the living in their midst.  
  
As it turned out, the dead did, in fact, have their eyes on her. But they were not smiling. Not at all.  
  
The pack of ghouls ambled down the street, with their beady black eyes glinting with unearthly red light. They were long-limbed, skinny wretches, starvation-lean, but with distended stomachs filled with Kana didn’t want to know what. They stared at her, jaws slack, black gore dripping from their teeth.  
  
Fear rooted Kana in place. But then she felt Hifumi’s hand on her shoulder, ushering her into cover. She crouched behind the low stone wall of a nearby storefront. Kana looked up, meeting Hifumi’s eyes, wondering if it was even Hifumi at all.  
  
Hifumi held out her hands, palms up. Black fire manifested in her hands. She crossed her arms and closed her fists around the flames, the flickering shadow solidifying into gleaming obsidian shards.  
  
“Get out of our way,” Hifumi snarled, but she was smiling- a vicious smile even more chilling than those of the dead.  
  
~*~  
  
Erebus lifted its twin heads and howled, its thunderous roar shaking the sky. Across the city, every ghoul lifted its head and answered the call with an exultant shriek.  
  
Maxwell tapped his cane against the ground, dispelling the ring of black smoke through which the Phantom Thieves had gotten their first glimpse of Mastema’s monster. He took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Let me be clear,” he said, slowly and firmly. “Let me be clear, so there is no confusion. This monster, this _daemon_ , Erebus, is no garden-variety Shadow. And I don’t say that just because it’s fifty feet tall and seems to be able to vomit up waves of ghouls at will. I need you to understand- and this is no exaggeration- that this monster is capable of destroying the world.”  
  
They stared at him. Ann balked.  
  
“That’s… crazy,” she said.  
  
“I don’t disagree,” Maxwell grumbled. “Listen. Erebus has a counterpart- Nyx. Years ago, Director Kirijo and her friends, many of whom would become founding members of PSICOM, fought against Nyx. One brave young man, whose portrait you see every time you enter the Bunker, gave his life to seal Nyx away. Understand, only in concert can Erebus and Nyx bring about the end. Minato Arisato sacrificed himself to keep them apart- forever. That should have been the end of it.”  
  
“But…?” Akira asked.  
  
“But then Mastema changed the game,” Lavenza spoke up. “The clash between my master and the Faceless King has weakened the barrier between our world and yours. The distance between Reality and the Dreaming has become dangerously small.”  
  
“Small enough that those capable can force a way through,” Maxwell said, grimly. “Erebus no longer has to fruitlessly bang his head against the Great Seal in a futile effort to reunite with Nyx and bring about the end of the world. The rogue angel, Mastema, dragged him across the worlds with a ritual mass sacrifice. Erebus is a creature who lives for humanity’s destruction. He has spent eons trying, and failing, to reach his erstwhile lover, Nyx, so that their union would lead to the death of humanity.”  
  
“All this time, Erebus has tried, and failed, to kill you,” Lavenza said, her voice hard. “Now that he’s had a taste, he will not stop until he eats his fill.”  
  
~*~  
  
On the battleground of Shibuya Crossing, Erebus brought death to humanity. Not all at once, not in one fell swoop like Nyx promised, but slowly, by inches, by pebbles that trigger a landslide.  
  
Erebus opened one of its mouths and vomited a beam of searing red light. It lanced across the street, blazing a path through its own ghouls, reducing a mounted heavy machine gun to a fused, molten mass. JSDF troopers caught on the edge of the beam became crisped husks of charred skin, held together by the smouldering remnants of their uniforms. The two-man support team manning the mounted gun vanished- just vanished, without leaving so much as ashes behind.  
  
Shibuya barricade was surrounded. While they had their hands full with Erebus’ brutal onslaught, they were also being hit from behind by waves and waves of ghouls rising from the Shibuya underground.  
  
A unit of JSDF tanks moved in support. They wedged their armored bulk between the station steps and the barricade, forming a much more formidable bulwark than mere sandbag walls. Hull-mounted anti-infantry guns opened up, their chattering fire shredding the horde of undead while their main guns swiveled and set their sights on Erebus himself, booming like thunder with every barrage.  
  
A JSDF tank, its armored hull crawling with ghouls, fired its main cannon with an echoing boom. The shell exploded right between Erebus’ eyes, one of its heads vanishing into smoke and grit. An instant later, a beam of searing red light shot through the smoke. The tank perished in a blazing column of red light, the ghouls scrambling like ants across its hull vanishing into ashes and dust.  
  
A volcanic red light rose up through Erebus’ throat. It roared again, sending a searing red beam racing towards the barricade.  
  
It struck with explosive force, with a horrid shriek like wet glass. The beam splintered and frayed, bleeding energy in a thousand directions with tendrils of red lightning.  
  
Aigis stood before the beam, shrouded in an aura of blue fire. A ghostly woman floated above her, a shining shield raised high.  
  
Aigis shouted a command, immediately lost to the deafening squeal of the beam against her barrier. The woman above shoved her shield forward, and the beam burst- exploding outwards in a flare of sizzling energy, flattening the foremost ranks of ghouls. They fell to the ground, blackened and burning. Not even a full second later, the next wave trampled them underfoot and crashed into the barricade.  
  
The troopers beside her dug their heels in and met the charge head-on. Over the boom of tank shells and the furious chattering of gunfire, Aigis heard- or at least felt- the _crunch._ It was a dreaded stage of any battle, the point where the enemy could not be kept at bay by gunfire alone- the point where the battle devolved into a claustrophobic mess of body against body, of weight against weight, where discipline became desperation.  
  
Aigis saw a trooper skewer a ghoul on his bayonet, and then fire, full-auto, into the ranks of ghouls behind, using the ghoul impaled on his rifle as a shield.  
  
The trooper beside her smashed a ghoul’s skull in with the butt of his rifle. The ghoul staggered back, but two of its brethren surged forward and yanked the man off his feet. He disappeared into the sea of bodies, screaming.  
  
Aigis saw another trooper, mobbed by ghouls. A ghoul bit his throat out with a ghastly geyser of blood, and they tore him apart, cackling like hyenas.  
  
Erebus’ throat began to glow with that familiar, volcanic red light. It opened its mouth.  
  
A rocket, on a long plume of smoke, flew up out of the section and slammed into its face.  
  
Erebus shrieked, a storm of red lightning erupting across its skeletal jaws. Its second head roared in pain and indignation. It reared back, and then vomited a cloud of black smoke across the barricade.  
  
“Athena!” Aigis called. Athena appeared in a swirl of blue fire, her shield raised high.  
  
Aigis’ section held, protected by a sphere of shining blue light. The noxious cloud smothered the squads to her flanks. In the choking cloud, men shriveled into desiccated husks, aged decades in a manner of seconds. They had only a moment to stare in wonder at their gnarled, wrinkled hands, before the wave of ghouls surged up and met them again.  
  
The men withered. The line withered. Ghouls broke through, shrieking and swiping. The formation fractured, and men broke from the barricade line, dueling with ghouls in twos and threes. Heavy weapons crews in the back lines recoiled, throwing aside mortar shells and rocket launchers and frantically drawing sidearms as ghouls descended upon them.  
  
“Hold them!” Aigis shouted above the chaos, her face streaked with blood and tar. “Hold them! Stand firm!”  
  
A trooper wailed in protest. “They’re killing us!” he screamed.  
  
“Then _kill them back!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi killed them.  
  
Only, she did so much more than that. To say that Hifumi killed the pack of ghouls would be like saying a supernova is the end of a star’s life. It conveyed nothing of the catastrophic violence involved.  
  
Kana cowered like a child, eyes screwed shut, her hands over her ears. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, it was all she could do not to scream.  
  
“It’s over,” Hifumi, or the thing in Hifumi’s body, whispered to her.  
  
Kana warily took Hifumi’s hand and stood up. Immediately, she felt the bile rise in her throat. Treacly black blood covered the street, like a Jackson Pollock painting from Kana’s worst nightmares. The stench of death was overwhelming.  
  
Kana wrenched her gaze away, desperate to focus on something other than the slaughter that had just occurred. What she found was a curious red light, bobbing, floating just above the rooftops. She blinked.  
  
“...What is that…?”  
  
Hifumi took Kana by the shoulders and forcibly turned her away.  
  
“The mark…” Hifumi hissed. “Don’t look at the mark…”  
  
For all Hifumi’s insistence, it was kind of hard to miss. After all, even if Kana looked away from the glyph drifting lazily down the street, the obscene stigma was still there, on Hifumi’s cheek, swimming beneath her skin…  
  
She was stained. Tainted. But when Kana looked in Hifumi’s eyes… she knew Hifumi, the real Hifumi, was still in there. Somewhere.  
  
“Are you alright?” Hifumi asked, her voice echoing.  
  
The sight of a dozen massacred ghouls flashed across Kana’s senses, and she gagged.  
  
Hifumi frowned. “...Are you hurt?” she asked, instead.  
  
Kana swallowed hard. “No.”  
  
Hifumi nodded, and patted Kana’s cheek. The gesture was strangely gentle, and surreal to see, as Hifumi’s hands were still shrouded in that aura of poisonous red light.  
  
“Come on,” Hifumi murmured. “We’re almost there.”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi climbed the stone steps, trailing wisps of red fire as she went. She laid a hand against the heavy wooden doors, took a deep breath, and eased them open.  
  
Hifumi fell to her knees, her aura gone, the voice in her head curiously silent. Feverish sweat dotted her brow. She raised a hand, swiped her sleeve across her forehead-  
  
Hifumi blinked herself awake, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was lying on a pew bench, her head on Kana’s lap.  
  
“Kana…” she said, her voice hoarse.  
  
“Fumi,” Kana breathed. “Fumi, are you alright?”  
  
Hifumi sat up, and immediately regretted it. She shuddered as the wave of nausea came and went, leaning back in her seat. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with feverish sweat.  
  
“It’s… it’s so hot…” Hifumi murmured, dazed. “It’s… it’s so hot in here…”  
  
Kana only nodded, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders.  
  
“I know,” Kana said, her breath misting in the air. “Just hold on. Father Eli went to get you some water.”  
  
“Eli…” Hifumi sat bolt upright, a wild look in her eyes. “Kana. Kana, you have to- you have to get away from me. Father Eli, too. I’m not- it isn’t safe-”  
  
“Shhh,” Kana said gently. Father Eli appeared behind her, and passed her a water bottle. Kana unscrewed the cap and pressed the cool bottle into Hifumi’s fevered hands- so hot they were almost scalding.  
  
Hifumi drank. Eli watched the stigma coil beneath the skin of her cheek. He glanced at Kana.  
  
“What happened to her?” he asked.  
  
Kana only shook her head.  
  
The water bottle, half-empty, clattered to the floor.  
  
“Fumi?” Kana whispered, urgent. “Hey, Fumi…?”  
  
Hifumi murmured something, then passed out again.  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi dreamt of a throne. A great, black throne made of gleaming obsidian, and a woman, dressed in red and black, pacing just behind.  
  
Hifumi woke with a gasp, her vision blurring and refocusing. She felt something cool against her forehead. Kana, playing with her hair, Hifumi’s fever so intense that Kana’s touch felt like an ice pack.  
  
“It’s going to be okay,” Kana was saying, to empty air. “It’s going to be okay. Mako and Taba are gonna come find us, and they’ll do some cool magic stuff and we’ll be good as new. It’s going to be okay…”  
  
Kana took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Futaba was the first one to call you ‘Fumi’,” Kana said, absentmindedly trailing her fingers through Hifumi’s hair. “But it was Makoto who came up with the reason. Mako’s smart like that, you know? She said, Hifumi, character by character, is hii-fuu-mii. Literally, ‘one, two, three’. But if we call you Fumi, you’re just ‘two, three’. It’s our everyday reminder that you’re not alone.”  
  
“I’m not alone,” Hifumi said, and Kana jumped, embarrassed by her own sentimentality.  
  
“I didn’t know you were awake,” Kana said, sheepish. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“I’m not alone,” Hifumi echoed, shivering. “There’s… a voice. I can hear her inside me… I can hear her, calling…”  
  
Kana went still. She looked up sharply, searching for… something. She took a deep breath and let it out slow.  
  
“Fumi,” Kana breathed, blue fire curling at her feet. “This is going to sound weird, but… I can hear her, too.”  
  
~*~  
  
Maxwell stood, leaning on his cane. Over his shoulder, a screen of roiling smoke showed the murky image of the battle against Erebus raging on the surface. The Phantom Thieves stared, their eyes flitting from the devastation above them to the wordless fear beside. No one knew what to say. No one knew what to do.  
  
Kikuno stepped forward, clearing her throat.  
  
“Everyone,” she said bluntly, not as gifted with rhetoric as her old friend, Mitsuru. “This morning, the Director made you an offer. To join us, and to help us face the crisis afflicting our city. We would never expect to send you into danger without any forethought. We gave you time to consider her proposal, to discuss it amongst yourselves. We cannot and will not force you to risk your lives. But you know the risks. And you know what is at stake.”  
  
Kikuno looked to Maxwell’s projection. Erebus smiled through the screen, its hateful visage permanently fixed in a wicked grin. She turned, meeting the eyes of the group, one by one.  
  
“We are out of time,” Kikuno said. “What is your decision?”  
  
~*~  
  
There was a tremendous bang, like thunder directly overhead. A JSDF tank, its armoured hull dented and crumpled like tinfoil, flew out of the smoke. It sailed through the air like a comet, struck with incredible force.  
  
Aigis saw it an instant before it hit the barricade. The troopers beside her stared at the shadow falling across their eyes. Some of them shot it, in vain. Some of them turned to run.  
  
Wreathed in blue fire, Aigis shouted a name-  
  
And vanished beneath the battered hulk with a horrendous crunch of metal.  
  
“Chief!” Agent Sabangan screamed.  
  
The horde of ghouls swallowed her up.  
  
~*~  
  
_“Operator, this is Shepherd One… Shield Leader is down… Shibuya barricade is lost…”_  
  
~*~  
  
There was nowhere to run.  
  
The barricade facing Shibuya Station, a patchwork line of surviving JSDF armor, withered under the relentless tide of ghouls. The northern barricade, composed of sandbags, mortal flesh, and a single, fallen hero, broke entirely.  
  
Ghouls surged across the barricade, ducking past the burning shells of ruined tanks, leaping the sandbag walls, drinking in what little defiant gunfire came their way. Shibuya Crossing was a warzone, and they were penned in on two sides.  
  
Ragged JSDF officers clutched pistols and shouted orders to retreat. Many of the rank and file, beset by monsters, did not wait for the order. They fled, abandoning weapons and kit so they could run faster.  
  
But there was nowhere to run.  
  
The barricade’s remaining defenders were left with a cruel choice. Stay, and die standing. Or run, and die on the ground.  
  
One of Erebus’ heads charged up another lance of searing red light. It reared back, its throat taking on that telltale volcanic glow. But then, it stopped, the glow vanishing. Its twin smiled, noxious smoke rising from its wicked grin.  
  
These were kills Erebus was going to savor.  
  
Erebus vomited out the noxious cloud of smothering decay. Following at its heels came a renewed surge of ghouls, their hateful red eyes shining through the smoke.  
  
“Fall back!” Captain Fukui called, pointlessly. “Fall back!”  
  
Death bore down on them like a tidal wave… and then-  
  
“Hold your positions!” Mitsuru screamed. _“Hold your positions!”_  
  
A shining green arrow shot into the pillar of smoke. Yukari quickly lowered her bow and coiled an arm around Mitsuru’s waist. Mitsuru threw her motorcycle into a drift, scoring a shining blue sigil into the pavement.  
  
Yukari’s arrow exploded into a hurricane, sweeping away the noxious fume, while a wave of frigid air shot out at Mitsuru’s command, stopping the charge of ghouls in their tracks. An instant later, PSICOM strike teams Hammer and Phoenix shattered Mitsuru’s wave of ice in a withering hail of gunfire.  
  
Labrys leapt off the roof of a PSICOM troop truck, following the wordless signal in her head. She hefted her battleaxe and crunched it into the side of the ruined tank. With a loud cry, she hurled the tank’s remains across the street with a shriek of metal and crumbling pavement.  
  
Aigis lay in the crater, her uniform torn to pieces, her exposed chassis cracked and sparking. Aigis blinked, casual despite having just endured a ludicrous amount of blunt trauma.  
  
“...You’re late,” Aigis said.  
  
Labrys grinned, despite everything, and hoisted Aigis to her feet.  
  
Across the square, surrounded by monsters, Mitsuru and Yukari fought alongside one another like they were born to do it. Yukari fired an arrow into the air that filled the shattered barricade with a soothing green light. JSDF troops, the brave few who survived this far and didn’t run, rallied to the sight of Mitsuru’s sword held aloft. Yukari’s healing wave surged through their weary bones and fought off their exhaustion. PSICOM agents bolstered their ranks, bringing to bear the finest anti-Shadow weaponry the Kirijo Group could provide.  
  
Yukari arced arrows of green light into the horde, sending packs of ghouls flying with explosions of magical wind. She broke their lines, and scattered them into the open, where the guns of Phoenix Squad and the JSDF tore them apart.  
  
Mitsuru fought beside her, regal and commanding. She coiled around Yukari, sword in one hand, pistol in the other. While Yukari rained down shots like a one-woman artillery piece, Mitsuru darted around her, pistol roaring, sword flashing, each slash, each stab, freezing a ghoul in its tracks before shattering to a pistol round.  
  
Mitsuru and Yukari stood together before the sea of Shadows, shining with auras of frost-blue and leaf-green. They moved together in perfect harmony, the men beside them watching in awe or shouting out their battle cries with renewed vigor.  
  
“Tokyo resists!” Mitsuru cried out, her voice echoed by a cheer. **_“Tokyo resists!”_ **  
  
They were heroes. Angels of death. Goddesses of war.  
  
Erebus loomed above, eyes shining with hellish red light. He watched them, intrigued, with his twin, wicked grins, wondering how their deaths would taste.  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi murmured, nuzzling Kana’s shoulder. She flitted in and out of consciousness, the stigma swimming beneath her skin, her aura flickering around her, then fading away.  
  
“...I wish there was something I could…” Kana trailed off, heaving a sigh.  
  
Father Eli placed a hand on Kana’s shoulder, before moving towards the doors.  
  
“Do not be afraid,” Eli said, peering out onto the street. “God is with her.”  
  
“God…?” Kana asked. She lifted her head and glowered. “...God let this happen. God brought this nightmare to Tokyo!”  
  
Eli took a calming breath. “God protects, child. He protected her, he protected me. Even now, he watches over you.”  
  
“God didn’t protect me,” Kana muttered. “Hifumi did. Hifumi, and a dozen other men and women who are braver than you or I will ever be.”  
  
Eli shook his head sadly, and gazed out onto the street. In the distance, the battle at Shibuya Crossing raged, flashing across the rooftops, trembling the ground underfoot.  
  
“Looks like a storm brewing,” Eli murmured.  
  
Eli suddenly recoiled, clutching his chest. He frantically crossed himself.  
  
“God save me! What on Earth did I just see?!”  
  
Hifumi screamed out, clutching her head.  
  
“Fumi? Fumi, what’s wrong…?” Kana pleaded.  
  
“He is here…” Hifumi seethed.  
  
Kana looked to the door. She saw Father Eli, shrinking away from the window in fear. She saw red light in the window, and heard lightning crackling in the air...  
  
~*~  
  
“I have a van waiting for your use,” Kikuno said, as they rose out of the Bunker’s depths. “I can drive you.”  
  
“I’ll drive,” Makoto said. “This is personal.”  
  
Kikuno nodded. Everyone took a device from the case laid across her arms.  
  
“If we had time, I’d have given you all a proper kit,” Kikuno said.  
  
“I do like a woman in uniform,” Ann smirked, despite everything.  
  
“Do not worry,” Lavenza said. “I believe I can handle that.”  
  
Lavenza opened her Compendium, bathing the group in azure light. They emerged onto the steps to the National Diet Building, trailing blue fire with every footstep. The light shifted and shimmered around the assembled group, like heat haze.  
  
Kikuno raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
  
_“Away team, come in. Can you hear me okay?”_  
  
“Read you, Operator,” Makoto said into her brand-new earpiece. Kikuno ushered them to an armored car, the PSICOM seal emblazoned on the door.  
  
Makoto took the driver’s seat. Futaba joined her up front, fiddling with her earpiece, getting acquainted with the onboard terminal. She cracked her knuckles and shook out her fingers, like she was getting ready to play the piano. One way or another, she was going to make this keyboard sing.  
  
The others filed into the back of the van, taking seats in two rows, facing each other. Akira and Ryuji. Ann and Shiho. Yusuke and Haru. Lavenza and Morgana.  
  
Kikuno met their eyes in turn, nodding respectfully. She shut the van doors and clapped a hand against it, as if for luck.  
  
“One last thing,” Kikuno said, stopping at Makoto’s window. “Your unit needs a callsign. What should we call you?”  
  
Makoto glanced at Futaba beside her, then to Akira, in the passenger compartment behind.  
  
She turned to Kikuno, her lips set in a grim line. The engine rumbled to life.  
  
“Rogue.”  
  
~*~  
  
The glyph opened up into a ring of seething red lightning, and Mastema, The Stained Angel, stepped through. He gestured, and the shadows of his cloak extended, easing open the church doors. He smiled, and preened as he made his entrance. Ever the showman. Ever the narcissist.  
  
Hifumi got to her feet, a hand lingering on Kana’s shoulder.  
  
“Whatever happens,” Hifumi whispered. “I’m getting the two of us out of here. I promise.”  
  
Kana nodded. Hifumi turned towards the angel, her aura of red fire crackling to life.  
  
Mastema approached, slowly, languidly, like the inevitability of death. Hifumi stood before him, wreathed in fire, her hair curling up above her head like horns. The stigma coiled beneath the skin of her cheek, glowing like hot coals.  
  
Black fire appeared in Hifumi’s hands. She curled her hands into fists, shards of obsidian appearing between her fingers like throwing knives.  
  
“Not one step closer,” Hifumi said, her voice undercut by a sensual purring.  
  
Mastema smiled, amused.  
  
“What’s this? I lose sight of you for a single evening and this is what you get up to? Come along, now, child. Did you forget already? You’re mine to command.”  
  
Hifumi’s eyes blazed with a fiery red light. Her voice rang, echoed by another’s- deeper, alluring, commanding.  
  
“I am no pawn,” Hifumi said. “I am a Queen.”  
  
Mastema scoffed, and laughed, his ugly cackling filling the old church. Behind him, out on the street, over the rooftops, the battle at Shibuya Crossing raged like distant thunder.  
  
“Oh, yes?” Mastema snorted, his voice dripping with scorn. “And what should I call you then, _my lady_ ?”  
  
Hifumi glared at him. Fire blazed around her and above her, gathering above her head like a crown.  
  
“My name is Jezebel,” the daemon said, with Hifumi’s mouth. “And I bow to no one.”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on **The Second Renaissance** …
> 
> “The longer Erebus stays in this world, the weaker the barrier becomes…”
> 
> “We’ll take him together! Give it everything you’ve got!”
> 
> “The Fire is rising. It will swallow us up from below…”
> 
> “To be truly Awake, you must love thy neighbor… and you must know thyself.”
> 
> “Hifumi! This isn’t you!”
> 
> “Thou art I… and I am thou...”
> 
> The World is changing. Witness it, next time, on **The Second Renaissance: The Devil’s Wife.**


	8. The Devil's Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebus, the Father of Death, has laid siege to the barricade at Shibuya Station. Mastema, the Stained Angel, has laid claim to Hifumi’s servitude. PSICOM’s newly formed Callsign Rogue faces a battle on two fronts- one for the city of Tokyo, another for the soul of a friend. 
> 
> The end is coming, one way or another.
> 
> The World is changing. 
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _When the voice in the shadows calls you_   
>  _When the wind whips past your ears_   
>  _Will you stand when the weight is upon you?_   
>  _Will you go to your knees in fear…?_
> 
> Strap yourselves in, guys, because this is gonna be a long one. I hope you all enjoy the ride. ;)

_~*~_ _  
__  
_Callsign Rogue blazed a trail down Tokyo’s darkened streets, haloed in fire and grim purpose.  
  
Futaba’s thoughts could by all means outrun their armored van. She was in the passenger seat, examining the Operator’s terminal built into the dashboard before her. It was a miniaturized version of the terminals used by PSICOM’s communications staff in the command room- though Futaba didn’t need a bulky visor. She saw everything she needed to, scrolling across the lenses of her glasses, blue fire licking at the frames.  
  
As impressed as she was with PSICOM’s scanning tech, Futaba was already busy planning her own tweaks to the network. She babbled excitedly to herself, filling her head with code adjustments and optimizing performance, only vaguely aware of the undercurrent of anxiety that her manic muttering was trying to drown out.  
  
Beside her, Makoto had the wheel. In contrast to Futaba’s chattering, Makoto was quiet, focused. She stared out at the road ahead, eyes fixed forward. Stress, and worry, had formed a little twitch, a tic, in the corner of her left eye. She took a deep breath, holding the wheel just a little too tightly.  
  
Behind them, the rest of the team was gathered. They sat in pairs, facing each other, on bench seats in the passenger compartment, making quiet conversation, watching buildings go by. The Japan Red Cross Medical Center flashed past, a beacon of light among the shadowed streets. _  
__  
_ Shiho sat up with a gasp.  
  
“The hospital,” she breathed.  
  
“They still have power,” Akira murmured. “That’s a good sign.”  
  
“I should be there,” Shiho said, shaking her head. “I should be there, helping.”  
  
“They’ll be okay,” Ann said. She leaned forward and placed a hand on Shiho’s knee.  
  
Shiho nodded, clasping a hand over Ann’s.  
  
“Never thought I’d be wearing this get-up again,” Ryuji muttered, tugging at his ascot with a yellow-gloved hand.  
  
“I think you wear it well. I especially like your little, ah, neckerchief,” Haru smiled.  
  
“Thanks, Haru,” Ryuji grinned. “Your hat looks pretty cool, too.”  
  
“Aww, Ryu-kun!” Haru cooed.  
  
“I am rather wary, I admit,” Yusuke began, resting his chin on his hand. “Thus far, I have not managed to manifest my powers in the real world. And in every other circumstance- say, with Makoto, or Ann- they have come in moments of extreme duress. Are we certain that we can rely on our powers during this fight?”  
  
“There’s a damn kaiju tearing up Shibuya Crossing,” Ryuji muttered. “That sounds pretty duress-ful to me.”  
  
“Reality and the Dreaming are, at this moment, dangerously close,” Lavenza explained. “Close enough that a daemon like Erebus can span the distance. The barrier between our worlds has grown perilously thin. The longer Erebus stays in this world, the weaker the barrier becomes, and the more Shadows can come flooding through…”  
  
Lavenza lifted her head, her dazzling golden eyes glinting in the firelight.  
  
“However, this narrowing gap between Reality and the Dreaming should also allow you to freely draw on your powers. As your Enemy grows in strength, so, too, do you.”  
  
“‘The closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes’,” Futaba drawled.  
  
“Yes!” Lavenza chirped, eager. “Yes, precisely. Well said, Miss Sakura.”  
  
Akira and Ryuji stifled snickers. Futaba cackled outright.  
  
“Why is that funny?” Lavenza asked, puzzled.  
  
“It’s a video game thing,” Ann explained.  
  
“I’ll show you later,” Futaba grinned. “After this is over, and everything all goes back to normal, you can come over to my place, and we’ll have a good time.”  
  
Akira chuckled. “You’re really going to open that can of worms? You won’t be able to explain all of Kingdom Hearts to Lavenza in a single evening.”  
  
“I dunno, then we’ll make it a weekend, whatever.”  
  
“I am intrigued,” Lavenza said. She smiled.  
  
“Do you really think there’s any chance of everything going back to normal?”  
  
Makoto’s question crushed the playful mood under its weight. Makoto adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. She flicked a glance towards the rearview mirror, and suddenly everyone was staring at their shoes or looking away.  
  
Makoto glanced at Futaba’s terminal, following their progress across Tokyo in real time. The mood grew heavy. Makoto took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Two minutes,” Makoto said, as they shot ahead into the dark. _  
__  
__~*~_ _  
__  
__Sae Niijima is no stranger to grief._ _  
__  
__When her father passed away- and Sae always hated that phrase, the spinelessness of it, because her father didn’t “pass away”, he was killed,_ ** _murdered_** _\- Sae did not have time to grieve. There were things to arrange, responsibilities to keep._ _  
__  
__That was eleven years ago, now. More than a decade of quietly shouldering the yoke of guardianship._ _  
__  
__Ever since their father’s passing, a gulf had risen between Sae and Makoto. Sae was no longer simply Makoto’s sister; she was her guardian. Professionalism, and propriety, called for keeping Makoto at arms’ length._ _  
__  
__But Makoto is a grown woman, now, and Sae has just about had it with propriety._ _  
__  
__Sae clutches Makoto to her chest, smoothing Makoto’s hair against her scalp. Sae can feel the shock that ripples through Makoto’s friends at the sight of such open affection, but Sae doesn’t care._ _  
__  
__Sae’s breath hitches, and she stubbornly fights back the tears. This was… not a_ ** _weak_** _moment, but a soft one, a moment of warmth beneath the ice. Sae still has her limits, however. And she won’t cry. Not now._ _  
__  
__“I love you,” she whispers into Makoto’s hair._ _  
__  
__“I know,” Makoto sniffles, dabbing at her eyes. “Listen, Sis, I’ll… I’ll see you soon.”_ _  
__  
__They part, and Makoto joins her friends down the hall. Kikuno ushers them down to the elevator, a metal case in her hands._ _  
__  
__Sae watches her go. She takes a shuddering breath._ _  
__  
__“Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered,” Maxwell intones. “Stormed at with shot and shell…”_ _  
__  
__Sae shoots him an acid look._ _  
__  
__“That’s ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’,” Maxwell smiles. “What, too much?”_ _  
__  
__Sae sighs. She feels the somber presence of Sanae and Sojiro sidling up beside her. She towers over them both, Sanae especially barely coming up to her chest. But in that moment, watching helplessly as Makoto walks away, Sae feels lost, vulnerable- so like a child._ _  
__  
__Sanae gently places a hand on Sae’s arm. Sae swallows hard._ _  
__  
__“You should be proud,” Sanae says._ _  
__  
__“I am proud,” Sae says, voice cracking. “And scared.”_ _  
__  
__Kikuno ushers Makoto and the others away, down the corridor past Minato’s distant, melancholy gaze. Sojiro silently places a hand on Sae’s shoulder, and Sae gasps, staring. She wonders if that’s what they’ll all be, someday. Minato. Makoto. Mitsuru. Just the framed portraits of martyrs, honored in death…_ _  
__  
__“Boldly they rode, and well,” Maxwell murmurs. “Into the jaws of Death. Into the mouth of Hell…”_ _  
__  
__~*~_  
  
Looming like a nightmare above Shibuya Crossing, the jaws of Death opened wide.  
  
Erebus lifted its twin heads and roared, shivering the sky with its unearthly howling. Every ghoul swarming across the Shibuya barricade lifted its own head and added its shrieks to the rising chorus. Similar scenes played out across every barricade in the city, ghouls rising out of the depths of the Tokyo Underground, a sea of bodies overwhelming what precious few JSDF defenders remained, shrieking out the song of their victory into the moonless night sky.  
  
The city’s defenses were crumbling. The enemy was breaking through. Bodies lay piled in the streets, knee-deep in some places- uniformed troopers, beside hapless civilians, beside the staring, empty eyes of ghouls, all of them grimacing in the firelight, smiling in death.  
  
Here, at last, one full day after the start of the Tokyo Blackout, it finally felt like the World was about to end.  
  
But it wasn’t over yet.  
  
Mitsuru strode out into the middle of the street, her coat flaring in the wind, haloed by muzzle flash and the burning wrecks of ruined tanks. A frost-blue aura shone around her feet. A card drifted out of the air, spinning lazily on one corner like a top. It came to rest on the outstretched tip of Mitsuru’s silver rapier.  
  
Erebus leaned forward, as if intrigued by this little speck of flesh and blood who dared stand before a god. Its hateful red eyes gazed down at Mitsuru, glowing like lit coals.  
  
Mitsuru met its gaze. She even smiled.  
  
With a practiced flick, Mitsuru tossed the card into the air, and slashed it apart.  
  
Then a freezing gale crashed into Erebus’ hide like a freight train.  
  
The frigid wind howled around Erebus’ form, caking frost along the storefronts down the street. Ice crept along its feet and up its shanks. Once again, it lifted its twin heads and roared. Once again, it was answered by the exultant shrieking of its countless ghouls.  
  
Mitsuru’s force had an answer of their own- and it rose on a dozen plumes of white smoke, snaking into Erebus’ shadowy hide and exploding his snap-frozen legs in a cloud of powdery frost and a deafening sound of shattering glass.  
  
Erebus crunched down onto its two remaining knees, its other two shattered limbs already melting into blood and tar in the street. It howled out in pain and outrage, but this time, its thunderous roaring was smothered by the sound of a triumphant cheer.  
  
“Tokyo resists!” Mitsuru cried, her sword shining in the night. “Tokyo resists!”  
  
Her men beside her bellowed out their approval, laying into the stunned, dismayed crowd of ghouls with all the firepower they could bring to bear. For a moment, just a moment, the shouts of her Agents and their JSDF allies drowned out the horde of ghouls’ incessant shrieking.  
  
For a moment, just a moment, Mitsuru thought they might even win.  
  
Then Erebus lifted a head up from where its wounded form lay crumpled in the street, noxious smoke filling its jaws.  
  
Mitsuru hesitated- just a little too long.  
  
“Director!” Someone cried. Mitsuru turned at the sound-  
  
The wave of noxious, suffocating smoke swallowed her up. In the smothering darkness, a burning wreck flew through the air-  
  
~*~  
  
-and crashed into the wooden pulpit at the head of the aisle.  
  
Hifumi gasped as the impact slammed the air out of her lungs and jarred her knives from her fingers. They skittered across the lacquered floor, and she went with them, rolling, tumbling, red flames licking at her form.  
  
Mastema came up the aisle, miming the act of walking, though his feet never fully touched the ground. His lips curled into that insufferable, pompous smirk.  
  
“I know my Bible, child,” he said, haughty, condescending. “And I know how this ends.”  
  
Hifumi pushed herself up onto her elbows, her breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps. She glared defiantly up at the Stained Angel. A luminous, vaguely feminine form, smoky black but cut through with vivid red light, flickered just above her- Jezebel.  
  
_Let me in_ , Jezebel hissed into Hifumi’s mind. _You cannot do this alone. Give in to me, and my power is yours._  
  
“No,” Hifumi whispered.  
  
“Jezebel dies,” Mastema continued, arrogant as ever. “So sorry to spoil the ending for you. But she does. Thrown out a window by her own servants, her broken body left to be eaten by dogs. I’ve no particular mind to re-enact history at the moment, and I’ve no more patience for this play-acting.”  
  
Hifumi rose to her feet, her aura of red fire blazing fitfully, rising up and then guttering like a candle in a strong wind. While Mastema spoke as if he were on stage, grandiose like the narcissist he was, Jezebel hissed urgently into Hifumi’s head.  
  
_Let me in_ , Jezebel insisted.  
  
“You’re a… demon…” Hifumi whispered.  
  
_I’m_ ** _yours_** , Jezebel purred. _I’m your demon, child. I am you, deep down._  
  
The stigma on Hifumi’s cheek writhed beneath her skin. She winced.  
  
_The Fallen’s harbinger, the one on your cheek, got its hooks in me and dragged me out before you were ready_ , Jezebel whispered. _But I’m here, now. And I’m not so bad, once you get to know me. I wish you no harm, child. Why would I? If you die, I die with you._  
  
Hifumi opened her mouth, then closed it again. She exhaled.  
  
_Do not be afraid_ , Jezebel said. _I want only what you want._  
  
“What’s that?” Hifumi murmured.  
  
_To exist._  
  
“Enough!” Mastema bellowed. “This charade has gone on long enough. My glyph chose you because it sensed that you were a worthy pawn. That stigma on your cheek brands you as my servant! Now get on your knees and serve me!”  
  
_Give in to me_ , Jezebel cooed. _Give me your body, and I will give you strength. Surrender yourself to me, now, and you will never know surrender again._  
  
“On your knees!” Mastema barked. “Bow to me, or perish- I care little which, only that you choose, and stop wasting my time!”  
  
Mastema growled in frustration, searching the room. His eyeless gaze settled on Father Eli, cowering in fear in a corner of the church, hands over his head, Kana crouching beside him.  
  
“Hifumi?” Kana murmured.  
  
“Choose,” Mastema growled. A tentacle of living shadow snaked out from his robe and shot towards them. “Or I’ll-”  
  
The tendril recoiled. It chittered and shrieked, pinned to the wall by a thrown obsidian dagger. It shuddered, screeched, and then went still.  
  
“ ** _I’ll kill you if you touch her_** ,” Hifumi snarled, her voice echoing in the vaulted room.  
  
Hifumi rose, just above the ground, haloed in a bloody red light. Her hair rose on the otherworldly wind, curling into horns above her head. Her eyes, her throat, even her veins shone from within with a volcanic light, like magma seething just under her skin.  
  
Hifumi shuddered and shrieked in agony as two geysers of gushing magma exploded out of her shoulders. They rose, and then fell back down in a sloping curve- skeletal wings, the spines formed of glassy obsidian, the splayed claws glowing golden with sizzling, seething lava.  
  
Hifumi’s transformation bathed the old church in an infernal gloom, the intense heat of her aura turning the room into a furnace.  
  
Mastema, for his part, seemed unimpressed. He sniffed.   
  
“I’d like to see you try,” he scoffed, and stretched out his shadowed cloak around Kana.  
  
Jezebel cannoned into him with explosive force, blazing through the air like a falling star.  
  
~*~  
  
Sojiro stopped, a mug of coffee halfway to his lips. He looked up. The ceiling looked just as nondescript as every other conference room far enough away from the Bunker’s brilliant, beaten path, but he wasn’t looking at the ceiling. He was looking past it, to the calamity unfolding on the surface, so wretched, so powerful that they could feel it, even here.  
  
He sighed and set his coffee down, anxiety buzzing in his ears.  
  
“Shame we’re not allowed in that big ol’ command room,” Sanae murmured idly, beside him.  
  
Sojiro took off his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes.  
  
“You’d really want a play-by-play of the mess going on up there?” Sojiro asked.  
  
“Well, sure,” Sanae grinned. “I’d want to make sure my Ryuji isn’t doing all the work.”  
  
Sojiro snorted. “From the sound of it, there’s plenty of fight to go around. For all of them…”  
  
There was a gentle click as the door opened and shut again. They looked up.  
  
Sae stood in the doorway, eyes distant, unfocused. She was quiet; meek, even, a far cry from the imposing, dauntless visage she put on in court.  
  
“Excuse me,” Sae murmured, hugging her arms to her chest. “May I join you?”  
  
“Of course, of course!” Sanae said, patting the couch beside her. “Park it here, dearie. Soji’ll go get you some coffee.”  
  
Sojiro muttered some half-hearted complaint about getting volunteered, before rising and getting Sae a mug.  
  
Sae settled in beside Sanae. Even sitting, she towered over the older woman. But when she was hunched forward, her elbows on her knees, worry weighing heavy on her shoulder-  
  
Here, and now, she and Mrs. Sakamoto saw eye to eye.  
  
Sojiro returned. Sae murmured her thanks and took the warm mug in her hands.  
  
She’d read, somewhere, that it’s comforting to hold a warm beverage because it stimulates the same part of your brain as when you’re holding someone’s hand. Sae was not an affectionate person, and expressing herself didn’t come easily to her. Even with a mug of coffee acting as a proxy, the gesture felt too close- too warm, too intimate.  
  
“She’s going to be alright,” Sojiro said gently.  
  
His voice made memories of her own father flick across her eyes like motes of dust caught in sunlight.    
  
Sae flinched. Too close. Too warm.  
  
“So we just… wait…?” Sae wondered.  
  
Sanae and Sojiro glanced at each other, then looked away.  
  
Sae exhaled. She stared down at the mug in front of her. In her mind’s eye, they became hands- her own, presenting Mitsuru with her sword before riding off to battle. Makoto’s, slipping through her fingers as Kikuno ushered her away.  
  
“It’s so quiet,” Sae said, to no one in particular. “The halls are empty. Everyone’s either in the command room, or on the surface. That’s how serious this is.”  
  
“It’s all hands on deck,” Sojiro muttered.  
  
“And all we can do is wait?” Sae pressed. She exhaled, shaking her head. “I wish… I wish I knew how to…” She trailed off, eyes distant.  
  
A voice sounded in a corner of the room.  
  
“Theirs is not to wonder why. Theirs is but to do, and die.”  
  
Maxwell appeared, rising out of the shadows.  
  
“That’s Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” he smiled.  
  
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sae snapped.  
  
Maxwell shrugged, seemingly in apology, before gliding away, his cloak dusting the ground as he walked. He stopped short before the door, hesitating. He turned, meeting Sae’s eyes, a frosted skein of hurt and anger over a roiling sea of fear.  
  
“Forgive me for trying to pass the time,” Maxwell said. “It is as you say: all we can do now is wait. One way or the other… it is only a matter of time.”  
  
~*~  
  
Time was something Mitsuru did not have to spare. In the chaos at Shibuya Crossing, she fought for every moment she could get- buying precious time for the people of Shibuya fleeing behind her, ushered away by her Agents. She bought moments with sword and shot, scratching out another few precious seconds with every flash of her blade, every spear of conjured ice, every gunshot that shattered a snap-frozen ghoul and left them to be ground to powder beneath Mitsuru’s heels.  
  
Mitsuru fought for every moment she could- and then Erebus stole years in a single breath.  
  
Mitsuru fell to her knees on the pavement, surrounded by Erebus’ noxious, suffocating cloud. She took a shuddering breath. She could feel it, creeping in through the collar of her catsuit, the cuffs of her uniform coat. She could feel the creases in her skin, the blackened veins curling up her throat like climbing ivy. Mitsuru gagged, feeling her youth and vigor draining by the moment, feeling years of her life slipping away…  
  
“Mitsuru!”  
  
A shining green arrow shot into the smoke and exploded into a gale, dispelling the withering cloud. Someone pressed a palmful of healing power into Mitsuru’s chest, and she gasped, her senses returning in a dizzying surge.  
  
Yukari helped Mitsuru to her feet, a palm against her heart. Mitsuru clasped a hand around hers, and met her eyes with wordless gratitude.  
  
“Yukari…” Mitsuru said gently.  
  
Yukari felt her cheeks grow warm. Their eyes lingered on one another, just a moment too long.  
  
“Takeba-san! Director! Drop!”  
  
Yukari grabbed Mitsuru by the waist and yanked her down onto the pavement. A hail of gunfire zipped over their heads and chewed apart an incoming wave of ghouls.  
  
A ghoul’s severed torso, sawn in half by heavy machine gun fire, landed on the pavement by Yukari’s face. It smiled up at her with its toothy, wicked grin, malice burning in its shining red eyes. It dragged itself across the pavement, opening its jaws wide…  
  
Mitsuru stabbed it through the skull. It shuddered, and died.  
  
Mitsuru wrenched her sword out of the ghoul’s head. She took a ragged breath, swiping a sleeve across her brow.  
  
“How are we supposed to fight something like this?” Yukari asked.  
  
Mitsuru shook her head.  
  
“...We can’t,” Mitsuru admitted.  
  
“C’mon, we can take ‘em!” a nearby Agent said. He flashed the duo a cheerful, jocular grin.  
  
Then he vanished in a column of searing crimson light.  
  
Mitsuru and Yukari recoiled from the intense heat, the air filling with horrid stench of charred flesh and cooked fat. Through the smoke, Erebus smiled down at them, a volcanic light shining down his throat. His jaws opened wide.  
  
Mitsuru drew Yukari behind her and raised her hand. The beam swallowed them up in an instant, obliterating sandbags, melting pavement. Crimson energy exploded down the barricade, torching everything in its path.  
  
Mitsuru was on her knees, gasping for breath. The ghostly form of her Persona shimmered above her. A column of steam billowed up around them, all that remained of the barrier of ice Mitsuru had conjured right before impact.  
  
They were still, impossibly, alive.  
  
Yukari knew it couldn’t last. Through the plumes of weeping steam, she saw yet another horde of ghouls massing to attack.  
  
Mitsuru met her eyes. She took a deep breath.  
  
She held out her hand.  
  
Yukari stared at her for a long moment, before taking her hand. Quietly, they laced their fingers together.  
  
The horde bore down upon them. Yukari closed her eyes, blinking away desperate tears.  
  
_Come on, someone…_ ** _please_** _…_  
  
The tide of bodies engulfed them, followed soon after by the crimson light-  
  
-but they did not die.  
  
There was a series of bangs- of loud, dense, wet impacts. Yukari warily opened her eyes to see a ghoul inches from her face. She recoiled, drawing her bow- but then it abruptly exploded, hurled away by a kinetic shockwave. Invisible explosions ripped through the horde, like artillery fire without the thunderous blasts of fire and grit. But the fire still came, a moment later. It roared past Yukari and Mitsuru in a ferocious wave, blasting the charging ghouls into ashes and dust, while leaving the two of them remarkably intact.  
  
Mitsuru stared at the devastation unfolding around them, stunned. She reached a curious hand into the flames, letting them curl harmlessly along her gloves.  
  
Yukari touched her shoulder. They turned, searching for the source of their newfound fortune.  
  
Yukari’s eyes lit up.  
  
“Ann!” Yukari beamed.  
  
Ann’s firestorm blazed down the street, carving a path through ranks of undead. She stood atop a pile of rubble, flanked by Ryuji and Shiho, shining crimson and gold.  
  
“Holy shit,” Ryuji grinned, socking Ann in the arm. “Look at you!”  
  
“Look at me?” Ann grinned, punching him back. “Look at you!”  
  
Glimmering auras shone around them both, haloing their clothes with an unearthly glow. Golden light coiled around Ryuji, transforming his biker jacket into a long, yellow robe, belted with a scarlet sash- garb in the resplendent visage of Seiten Taisei, the Monkey King. Ann, wreathed in scarlet light, was similarly transformed- her cherry-red catsuit morphing into dark robes, accented by crimson stockings, boots, and gloves- a reflection of Hecate, goddess of magic, matron of witches.  
  
Erebus, unimpressed, belched out another cloud of noxious black smoke, intent on smothering them all with the power of decay. Yukari readied her bow, but before she could fire, a soothing green gale swept down the street and dispelled the smoke.  
  
Shiho stood, haloed in blue fire. A card bearing the roman numeral XI drifted down into her grasp.  
  
“Callisto,” Shiho breathed, and crushed it between her fingers.  
  
A shining green gale sang down the street, reinvigorating the line of defenders, sealing their wounds and granting them their second wind- so to speak. More importantly, it forced back Erebus’ clouds of smothering decay. The daemon glowered at her in frustration, eyes shining with crimson hatred.  
  
Shiho met its gaze, crowned with a golden laurel wreath and robed in resplendent white, looking, now more than ever, like an angel- or a goddess.  
  
Ryuji threw a punch that sent a dozen ghouls flying into the air with a kinetic shockwave. Ann flashed Yukari a grin before tearing into a swarm of ghouls, tendrils of fire flashing in her hands like whips. Shiho followed them in support, mending their wounds with shimmering green light, and swatting aside any foe that got too close for comfort.  
  
Each of them blazed with light, their once roguish outfits transforming into those befitting their station. These weren’t mere thieves. These weren’t rebels, or outcasts.  
  
These were heroes, and they looked the part.  
  
Mitsuru and Yukari watched as the former Phantom Thieves leapt into the fray, speechless with awe and relief. Mitsuru’s link chirped, and she raised a hand to her earpiece, her lips curled into a stunned smile.  
  
_“All units, this is Chief Yamagishi. Callsign Rogue has arrived.”_  
  
~*~  
  
Through a murky orb of smoke, Maxwell watched callsign Rogue turn the tide at Shibuya Crossing. He smirked, before crushing the seeing-orb in his fist, smoke curling between his fingers.  
  
“Brave fools,” he muttered.  
  
He was standing outside the door to Mitsuru’s private quarters. He raised his cane and tapped on the door- once, twice, three times. When there was no answer, Maxwell murmured a quiet command in some forgotten language. Shadows snaked out from his cane and slipped inside the latch.  
  
There was a click.  
  
“Director Kirijo isn’t here.”  
  
Maxwell turned sharply. Agent Wen was coming up the hallway.  
  
“Is she?” Maxwell asked blithely. “I hadn’t heard.”  
  
“She’s taken to the field in support of Chief Aigis, alongside captains Takeba and Labrys,” Wen explained. “It’s surreal, isn’t it? With the majority of our forces are deployed, the Bunker’s practically empty.”  
  
Maxwell’s eyes flashed. He smiled.  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Agent Wen went rigid, his cry of surprise choked by his suddenly tight jaw. He stared at Maxwell, his hand frozen just above his holster, his eyes wide with alarm. Maxwell had his cane in his hands, the engraved serpents’ eyes shining with an eerie green light.  
  
“ **Sleep** ,” Maxwell commanded, and Wen obeyed, his form falling slack.   
  
Maxwell caught Wen’s limp body in his arms. He dragged him inside Mitsuru’s quarters, and quietly shut the door.  
  
~*~  
  
Fuuka felt the distortion- a tremor, a twitch in the Bunker’s physiology. It was there for a moment, then it was gone- lost in the command room’s sea of voices, shouting reports, updates, orders.  
  
Fuuka furrowed her brow. The midst of a full-scale battle was no time to perform a full network diagnostic. Still, she clacked at her keyboard, studying the scrolling data…  
  
Kikuno appeared at her shoulder, and Fuuka nearly jumped out of her skin.  
  
“Everything alright, Chief?” Kikuno asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Fuuka exhaled through her nose, pressing her lips into a line.  
  
“I’m not sure,” she muttered.  
  
Kikuno nodded. She tipped her head towards the command room’s main screen.  
  
“How does it look out there?”  
  
Fuuka smiled. “‘How does it look’? Oh, Kiku, you should _see_ them…”  
  
~*~  
  
Another thunderous call shook the sky, and the calls of the dead answered it- a rising chorus of chittering shrieks. Another horde of ghouls, drawn up from the infernal depths of Shibuya Station, rose out of the crimson light and marched into the square- a seething tide of snapping jaws and packed bodies. They charged forward, uttering chilling, banshee wails through once-human mouths. They came, in their dozens, in their hundreds, shrieking and screeching.  
  
And callsign Rogue laid waste to them.  
  
Lavenza strode into battle, the very picture of elegance and poise. She clutched her compendium to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched, a shining card drifting lazily into her grasp.  
  
“Kaguya!” Lavenza called, eyes flashing in the light.  
  
Kaguya appeared above her, garbed in red, with an iridescent metal crest curled around her shoulders like a cloak. She raised her hands, a golden magic circle spinning into place between her outstretched palms. Luminous beams, like fireworks, rocketed out of her grasp and snaked fiery trails through the air. Shibuya Crossing lit up the night with a series of blinding, strobing explosions, each one bright enough to leave dazzling rainbows hanging in the air.  
  
Morgana, not to be outdone, charged into battle with uncharacteristic zeal. He leapt into the fray, quite literally, as quick and nimble as a cat.  
  
“Mercurius!” Morgana called, as he somersaulted through the air. Blue fire wreathed his form, transforming his outfit into one perhaps a bit more mundane than those of his companions- simply a light gray hooded sweatshirt, a denim jacket, blue jeans, sneakers, a yellow bandana wrapped around his arm.  
  
What he lacked in flash, he more than made up for in finesse. He coiled and darted around swiping claws, like a street urchin or a breakdancer- or, perhaps, someone trying to catch a certain someone’s eye. He cut ghouls apart with blades of focused wind, held like daggers in his hands, trailing from his shoes like wings.  
  
Yusuke stared down a pack of charging ghouls, a shining blue card drifting down into his grasp. He crushed the card in his hand, pale-blue fire swimming across his form. His high-collared Phantom Thief jumpsuit transformed into a long, tasseled coat. It was gleaming white, accented in red, and was slitted at the knees to flare into eight distinct tails- with the one hanging from his belt making nine.  
  
“Susano-o,” Yusuke spoke softly, reverently, even as the pack of ghouls came bearing down. The wisp of blue flame lingering in his hands grew into a sword- the sacred, seven-branched sword, with six branching spikes, three on either side of the central blade.  
  
The front ranks of ghouls were upon him. They coiled their legs beneath them, and pounced.  
  
Yusuke spun the ritual blade in his hands and plunged the sword into the pavement. A forest of frozen spears rose out of the ground and skewered the horde in place. They hung there, suspended on the conjured, icy spikes, jaws open in indignation, squirming to get free.  
  
“Astarte!” cried a voice above him.  
  
Yusuke looked up and watched, with no little awe, as Haru somersaulted through the air, battleaxe in hand. A pink light suffused her form as she spun through the air, morphing her old Phantom Thief musketeer’s blouse and vest for an elegant gown in black and gold- with a pink, floral, ruffled skirt underneath.  
  
Haru cried out and slammed her battleaxe down like a thunderclap. A shockwave of invisible kinetic force pulverized the horde of ghouls along with their spiky, frozen restraints, hurling their ruined corpses down the street in a hail of powdered ice.  
  
“Simply gorgeous,” Yusuke said, unbidden. Haru beamed.  
  
Labrys strode out of the smoke, supporting a limping Aigis. Aigis, her chassis cracked and sparking in several places after being crushed by the burnt-out shell of a main battle tank, nonetheless found time to nod in approval at Haru’s handiwork. Labrys merely glanced at Haru, hefting her own battleaxe across her shoulders.  
  
“Mine’s bigger,” Labrys grinned, teasing.  
  
“Size isn’t everything, dear,” Haru smiled. “It’s how you use it.”  
  
Halfway across the square, Akira was busy proving Haru’s point. He’d had no flashy transformation, no waves of fire from his fingertips or the ability to throw punches that landed like artillery. He had no healing power, no command over wind, or ice, or electricity- indeed, he couldn’t feel _any_ of his Personae within him, not since the blackout began, and in the midst of all the fighting he hadn’t had time to ask Lavenza why.  
  
All he had now was his pistol, his knife, and four years’ worth of middle-school gymnastics- and Akira was determined to make them count.  
  
Akira saw Mitsuru’s vivid red hair in the crowd and made a beeline for her, slipping past scattered JSDF troopers and the occasional snapping, snarling ghoul. He found her, back to back with Yukari, fending off shrieking undead with bullet and blade while Yukari arced shining green arrows over their heads, chipping away at Erebus’ seemingly endless endurance one exploding gale-arrow at a time.  
  
Akira took a running leap and landed in a roll beside Mitsuru and Yukari. He rose into a crouch on one knee, bracing his aim with both hands and taking precise, aimed shots. Three ghouls fell in quick succession, each one with a smoking hole right between the eyes.  
  
A ghoul broke through the smoke, charging, spitting tar. Akira retrained his aim, but it pounced, his shot going wide-  
  
Mitsuru impaled it on her rapier, a skein of brittle frost covering its skin in an instant. Mitsuru jabbed the muzzle of her pistol into the ghoul’s sternum. She fired, exploding the snap-frozen ghoul into powdered ice and shards of black, icy blood.  
  
“Kurusu,” Mitsuru said, warmer than her magical affinity might suggest. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”  
  
“ _I’ll_ say,” Yukari smiled. “You’re here. You saved us.”  
  
“Don’t give us too much credit,” Akira said, raising a hand. “For all we know, this might not be salvation, only a stay of execution. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”  
  
Mitsuru nodded. “It’s appreciated, nonetheless.”  
  
Yukari scanned the battlefield, counting heads.  
  
“...Two of you are missing, aren’t they?” Yukari wondered. “Where’s the rest of you?”  
  
~*~  
  
Callsign Rogue’s armored van screeched to a halt in front of the old church. Makoto dropped down and flung the door shut behind her. She strode across the cobblestones, Futaba babbling at her heels.  
  
“I traced the psychic signature here,” Futaba said as she walked. A luminous holographic ring spun around her at waist-height, projecting screens, charts, video feeds. She flicked a map screen aside, looking up at the heavy wooden doors. “This should be the place.”  
  
“I’ll take point,” Makoto said. She placed a hand against the doors and slowly eased them open, tense, expecting a fight-  
  
Instead, she got arms around her waist, and tears smeared into her chest.  
  
“Mako!” Kana gasped, holding onto Makoto for dear life. Makoto scarcely had a moment to lay a fond hand on Kana’s head before Kana let go of her and pounced on Futaba in turn, yanking the other girl into a tearful embrace.  
  
“Oh, Taba…” Kana sniffled. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking Futaba up and down. “...why do you look so… _cool_ …?”  
  
Makoto and Futaba exchanged glances- Makoto in her Phantom Thief biker armor, bodice, and sentai scarf, Futaba in her cargo pants, glowing neon bodysuit, and a deep red tunic slung over one shoulder- that one was new. Futaba gave Kana a squeeze, the circuitry lining her suit shimmering and changing color.  
  
“Please,” Futaba grinned. “I always look cool.”  
  
“Kana,” Makoto pressed. “Where’s Hifumi? Is she with you?”  
  
Kana hesitated. Swallowed. “...She’s…”  
  
Futaba gestured, and the holographic ring spun around her waist and projected a map of the area.  
  
“She should be here,” Futaba said, studying her screen. “She’s right on top of-”  
  
Something zipped overhead. The storefront across the street exploded into fire and clattering bricks. A winged silhouette rose, standing in the flames.  
  
Makoto narrowed her eyes. Futaba and Kana both turned to look, but Makoto placed a hand on either of their shoulders and gently pushed them up the church steps.  
  
“Stay here,” Makoto urged. “I’ll handle this.”  
  
Makoto turned and strode into the street, her scarf flowing in the wind…  
  
~*~  
  
Maxwell unceremoniously tossed Agent Wen’s unconscious form onto Mitsuru’s bed, before powering up the terminal at her desk and getting to work.  
  
Any lock can be opened. Physical locks need only a certain level of dexterity and the ability to fit into tight places. Digital locks are somewhat more complicated, but only somewhat.  
  
Passwords can be forced. Swipe patterns and knock codes can be bypassed.  
  
Even biometric scans can be fooled, by one with enough patience, and enough skill.  
  
The glow of Mitsuru’s computer screen bathed the room in a soft, electronic blue light. But as Maxwell lifted a hand and passed it across his face, that blue light transformed into a sickly, poisonous green.  
  
The saboteur pressed a finger to the pad and leaned in towards the scanner. There was a chime as the computer processed Mitsuru’s retinal scan and thumbprint.  
  
They smiled.  
  
“Amateurs,” the saboteur said, with Mitsuru’s mouth and voice.  
  
They were in. As Director of PSICOM, Mitsuru had full access to their network. There were secrets here, ripe for the taking- personnel files, classified mission reports, projects, plans. But the saboteur was not here to take- they were here to give.  
  
The gift was so simple- just a list of names. But their effects would be insidious. Letter by letter, they were inert- harmless. Only together, like a lit match and a dry forest, did they reach their devastating potential.  
  
For there are some things humanity was not meant to know, and there are some beings whose names are not meant to be uttered by mortal lips- least of all the cold, unthinking processes of machines. The saboteur smiled, keying them in, one by one, infecting the PSICOM network with the names of obscure, obscene gods…  
  
“Mitsuru?”  
  
Sae was in the doorway. The saboteur froze, their back to the door, still wearing Mitsuru’s face.  
  
“Yes?” They called, without turning around.  
  
“I thought you were in the field,” Sae said, stepping inside. She stopped, seeing Agent Wen sprawled, unconscious, across Mitsuru’s bed.  
  
The saboteur curled a hand around Maxwell’s engraved cane.  
  
There was a flash, of sickly, poisonous green.  
  
The saboteur stepped out of Mitsuru’s quarters, once again garbed in Maxwell’s likeness, leaving Sae crumpled and limp on the carpeted floor.  
  
~*~  
  
Makoto marched down the street, filled with grim purpose, standing proud and tall. She raised her hand, taking the card that floated into her grasp.  
  
“Anat,” Makoto said, crushing the card in her fist.  
  
Blue fire cascaded across her form. Her clothes melted into wisps of fire and were remade- gauntlets and greaves in gleaming silver. Her leather bodice became a flexible lamellar cuirass of interlocking metal plates. Her scarf became a curtain of blue fire draped over her shoulders, coalescing into a dark, navy-blue trenchcoat worn open over her armor.  
  
Before her, a figure stood in the remains of a gutted, burning storefront. Long, dark hair, and black wings…  
  
“Mastema!” Makoto cried, slipping into a practiced fighting stance.  
  
The figure turned- just a shadow among the flames- but even then, Makoto could see it, shining in the dark. The stigma, the mark of Chaos, glowing like a hot brand, and eyes, lit from within by an infernal red light, wild with hatred, and without a trace of recognition…  
  
Makoto hesitated. “Hifumi…?”  
  
Mastema rose to one knee- a broken, crumpled shadow in the burning ruin. He lifted his head, flashing Makoto a rueful smile.  
  
“...There are always more pawns…” Mastema muttered.  
  
He fled, slipping into the adjoining alley.  
  
Makoto managed only a single step in pursuit before Jezebel dove, screaming, out of the flames, and hurled her off her feet.  
  
~*~  
  
_“This is Director Kirijo to all allied units. Commence immediate staged withdrawal from Shibuya barricade. Callsigns Hammer, Phoenix, and Rogue will cover the retreat from behind. All other JSDF and PSICOM forces, you are ordered to disengage the enemy and break east…”_  
  
“If we fall back here, we can establish a secondary defensive line here, at the National Diet Building,” Yoshida was saying, gesturing to the map of Tokyo on the command room’s main screen. “The enemy will be right on our doorstep. But that also means it’ll be that much easier to reinforce.”  
  
“What reinforcements do we even have?” Kikuno asked. “We are a law enforcement agency, not an army. The bulk of our forces are already deployed.”  
  
Yoshida sighed. “...If we’re lucky, it won’t have to come to that. From the sound of it, our newest strike team has this Erebus on the ropes.”  
  
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Kikuno said. “We should still coordinate the retreat, just in case.”  
  
“Of course, of course…” Yoshida nodded. He looked up. “Is something wrong, Chief Yamagishi? You seem distracted.”  
  
“What?” Fuuka blinked. She still couldn’t get that nagging anxiety out of her head. “...I’m sorry, Director. It’s… probably nothing.”  
  
“‘Probably’?” Yoshida echoed.  
  
A flicker of… something crackled across the command room’s main screen, leaving a trail of dead pixels and static running across the map of Tokyo. Fuuka swore under her breath, pulling open her laptop and clacking away.  
  
“Interference?” Yoshida asked. “This is hardly what we need…”  
  
Yoshida’s comm chirped. He sighed, clicking in his earpiece.  
  
“This is Branch Director Yoshida,” he said. He sighed. “...Thank you, doctor. I’ll inform her at once.”  
  
Yoshida clicked off his earpiece, shaking his head in irritation.  
  
“Who was that?” Kikuno asked.  
  
“Dr. Maxwell,” Yoshida said. “I understand that he urgently needs to speak with Director Kirijo, but as I’m sure you can see, she’s quite occupied at the moment.”  
  
“What?” Kikuno blinked. “He should know she’s in the field. He watched her leave.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Yoshida asked. “Dr. Maxwell’s been stranded in Odaiba ever since the blackout shut down train service.”  
  
Kikuno and Fuuka exchanged glances.  
  
At the door to the command room, the false Maxwell raised his cane, the twin serpents shining with sickly green light. Yoshida and Kikuno whirled around, reaching for their sidearms.  
  
The saboteur tapped Maxwell’s cane against the ground, and the Bunker went dark.  
  
~*~  
  
In the furnace-heat and infernal gloom of Hifumi’s mind, Hifumi sat on a solid stone platform amid a sea of lava, her legs curled to her chest. Jezebel paced in circles around her, her footsteps trailing globs of white-hot magma. Jezebel shuddered and growled, snarling like an animal, clawing at the stigma burned into her cheek.  
  
_Please_ , Hifumi pleaded. _Let me go._  
  
“Shut up,” Jezebel snarled, clutching her cheek. The brand glowed like hot coals. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”  
  
Hifumi heard something above the roiling, bubbling magma. A voice, far away…  
  
_To be truly Awake, you must love thy neighbor… and you must know thyself._  
  
Hifumi stood up, studying the vaulted ceilings, lit only by the ruddy glow of the sea of magma below. The heat was unbearable. She swiped an arm across her brow, her sleeve growing sticky with sweat.  
  
_What’s going on out there?_ Hifumi demanded. _What are you making me do?_ _  
__  
_ A tremor shot through the cave, and Hifumi fought to keep her balance on her little stone platform. A shaft of light, frail and white, shone down from a crack in the ceiling. Hifumi reached out and warily touched the beam, as if it might burn her, turning her gaze up towards the light…  
  
~*~  
  
Jezebel recoiled, Makoto’s gauntleted fist leaving a bloody scratch along the stigma on her cheek. Jezebel snarled in outrage, hurling Makoto to the ground, obsidian blades manifesting between her fingers. She plunged the blades down, and Makoto caught her wrists, the trembling obsidian shards inching closer and closer to her throat.  
  
“Hifumi!” Makoto gasped, her arms shaking beneath Jezebel’s inhuman strength. “Hifumi! This isn’t you!”  
  
~*~  
  
Erebus gathered another noxious storm cloud and engulfed Shibuya Crossing’s defenders in a column of black smoke. Almost immediately, the storm cloud was blasted away, dissipated into the air by a shining emerald gale. Yukari stood before the beast, bow raised, with Shiho and Morgana behind her, all of them shining with auras of leaf-green light.  
  
Erebus glowered at them, but his expression had changed. For the first time since his summoning, his skeletal, toothy grin had become a grimace. It didn’t look sadistic, or cruel. It looked… desperate.  
  
It looked afraid.  
  
Across the square, Aigis and Labrys were shuffling away, joining the ranks of JSDF troopers falling into retreat. Mitsuru saw Shepherd unit, Caryn and Lam, in their midst. She met their eyes and nodded, and then they vanished into the withdrawing crowd.  
  
Mitsuru turned to those who remained- those brave few who stood against the Father of Death.  
  
“We’ll take him together!” Mitsuru proclaimed, voice ringing across the square. “Give it everything you’ve got!”  
  
Mitsuru and Yusuke cut shining sigils into the air, haloed with frost-blue light. Huge columns of conjured ice rose up, encasing Erebus’ legs in a frozen prison.  
  
Ryuji punched a fist into his palm, grinning dangerously. He took a running leap, golden light encasing his fists. He pounded a fist into the ground. An instant later, Haru's battleaxe crunched down beside him, trailing pink and purple sparks through the air. Twin shockwaves shot across the square, and Erebus’ frozen legs exploded into powder and shards of black ice. Erebus’ legless torso crunched down onto the pavement, wailing in agony.  
  
Lavenza raised her card, her dress fluttering in the wind. Kaguya appeared above her, opening her hands as if in welcome.  
  
A circle of golden light drew itself in the air above the Father of Death, and beams lanced down, pummeling Erebus with blinding explosions that flashed like lightning down the square.  
  
Yukari fired an arrow of wind, the gesture echoed by Shiho and Morgana behind her. Her arrow buried itself in Erebus’ shadowy hide and exploded into an emerald tempest, the spiraling hurricane drilling into him and tearing him apart.  
  
Ann opened her palms, tendrils of fire snaking around her arms. Dancing flames took shape in her grasp- a wolf, a hunting hound, teeth bared. It charged across the square, trailing fire with every step. It opened its jaws wide, and dove headfirst into the hurricane.  
  
The impact was so tremendous it almost hurled them all off their feet. They recoiled, shielding their eyes from the explosion of light and heat, the flare of energy so brilliant it left spots swimming across their vision.  
  
Erebus screamed, engulfed by a firestorm the size of a city block. Callsign Rogue cheered- pointlessly, as nothing could be heard over the roaring flames and Erebus’ horrid wailing. But they stood there, basking in the radiant light, gazing in awe at what their united power was capable of.  
  
The sight of Erebus’ demise was… breath-taking. Liberating.  
  
Mitsuru gasped in relief, blinking away tears. She turned just in time for Yukari to throw herself into her arms. Mitsuru didn’t go stiff- and she didn’t push her away.  
  
Yukari lay her head against Mitsuru’s shoulder, giggling with joy- Mitsuru assumed, since she couldn’t hear anything over the hurricane.  
  
She studied the faces of the former Phantom Thieves, basking in the light. If there was ever any doubt that they were heroes, it was gone now- engulfed by the second sun they had ignited over Shibuya Crossing.  
  
Lavenza, however, was not so quick to celebrate victory. Half-blinded, deafened from the explosion and Erebus’ pain scream, she gazed into the radiant light with her inhuman eyes, searching, searching…  
  
There. Just a hint of black amid the brilliant white and gold- like a stain.  
  
Like a drop of ink, or blood in water.  
  
The others stopped short. Perhaps they could feel it too- or perhaps it was the tremor underfoot, the thunderous quaking that threatened to tear the earth from beneath their feet.  
  
Mitsuru had been right. They _had_ done it.  
  
Erebus had fallen. But he fell, like Lucifer fell, like a meteor falling to earth…  
  
Erebus exploded, into a tsunami of roiling black shadow, a deluge of smothering blackness that cascaded down the street. The strike team stared, in blank horror and dismay, watching the price of their victory come crashing down.  
  
Lavenza raised the Velvet Key, shining silver in her hands.  
  
Erebus gave one final, dying roar, and the tidal wave of primal darkness swallowed them up.  
  
~*~  
  
The Bunker command room was plunged into darkness, save for the gray glare of static washing over every screen. Visored Operators slumped down at their terminals, sickly green light rising from their closed eyes.  
  
Fuuka could feel the poison infecting PSICOM. She could feel it in the network, and she could feel it in the air, thrumming around her. Yoshida and Kikuno were laying on the floor beside her, eerie green light rising from their eyes- having fallen victim to an unnatural sleep.  
  
As an Awakened psychic, Fuuka was the only one who had escaped the saboteur’s sleep spell. But now here she was, awake, and alone.  
  
She backed against the balcony rail, fear buzzing in her chest. She glanced at Yoshida and Kikuno, sprawled out on the carpet, their sidearms half-drawn and resting on the floor.  
  
The saboteur stood before her, their form shimmering like heat haze. They had taken the illusory form of Dr. Maxwell, but the mass sleep spell they had used was no illusion.  
  
Fuuka met their eyes, swallowing her fear.  
  
“Larissa,” Fuuka demanded. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
The illusion of Maxwell’s visage dropped away, revealing a woman in her thirties, her hair prematurely gray, her eyes flinty and hard in all the ways Maxwell’s- the real Maxwell’s- were warm and jovial.  
  
“‘Why’?” the witch asked, venom in her voice. “Why do you think, Chief? You’re fighting a war you cannot win. Don’t judge me for choosing the winning team.”  
  
Fuuka caught something out of the corner of her eye- movement. A shadow.  
  
She fixed her eyes forward. “Larissa, you are making a mistake.”  
  
“Please,” Larissa scoffed. “Don’t think you can stall me, and don’t think you can stop me. The daemon code is already infecting your network. PSICOM is finished. It’s already done.”  
  
“Then _why_?” Fuuka begged.  
  
“Because I’m tired of being stuck in old man Maxwell’s shadow!” Larissa spat. “Because he and Director Kirijo and all you other high-minded fools would rather let humanity die in defiance than survive in chains! And finally, the simplest, easiest answer?”  
  
Larissa’s eyes flashed red in the light.  
  
“Because I pledge myself to the Pact,” she intoned, “until my soul sleeps, and my body burns!”  
  
“Now burn,” Sae hissed, as she pulled the trigger.  
  
The shot rang out, echoing in the vast space of the command room. Larissa looked down at the ghastly wound in her chest, reaching for it with numb fingers, astonished when they came away bloody. She grit her teeth, raising Maxwell’s engraved cane.  
  
Sae fired again, and again, until Maxwell’s cane clattered, inert, to the floor, Agent Wen’s service pistol clicked empty, and the saboteur, Larissa, was a ruined, bloody heap laid out on the command room deck.  
  
~*~  
  
Makoto’s head slammed into the pavement so hard she blacked out for a split second. She felt a ringing in her ears and blood in her nose, and as her vision swam, and refocused, she saw the daemon in her grasp.  
  
“Hifumi!” Makoto snarled, driving a knee into Jezebel’s stomach and throwing her off, if only for a moment. “Hifumi, listen to me!”  
  
Jezebel skipped down the street like a stone across a pond, claws scraping for purchase on the pavement. She skittered and crawled on all fours, a bestial, wild thing, a crazed fire burning in her eyes. Jezebel coiled her legs beneath her and pounced, slamming into Makoto once again. They crunched onto the street and rolled, like two lovers tumbling.  
  
Once again, Makoto found herself pinned, her hands clamped around Jezebel’s wrists, obsidian blades inches away from hitting their marks. Jezebel snarled and shrieked in Makoto’s face- and the worst part of all was that it was still Hifumi’s face, twisted and tortured into something Makoto could scarcely recognize. Jezebel’s eyes blazed with crimson light. Her veins shone like streams of magma beneath her skin. And the stigma, that foul, obscene mark, glowered hatefully from Hifumi’s cheek…  
  
“Mako!” Futaba cried out, from the steps of the church. “Destroy the mark!”  
  
Makoto took a deep breath and sighed, her face set with grim purpose.  
  
It was at that moment Erebus’ death scream thundered across the distance. Kana and Eli wailed in alarm. Futaba shrieked in agony, overwhelmed by the sudden, catastrophic flare of psychic power. Even Jezebel stopped for a moment, lifting her head in wonder.  
  
Makoto saw her moment. Her opportunity. Her opening.  
  
Dazzling blue fire gathered around her fist, and she cracked Jezebel across the face.  
  
Jezebel shrieked in dismay, her hold broken. Makoto shifted her weight and rolled them over, shoving Jezebel down. The stigma shone beneath Jezebel’s- beneath _Hifumi’s_ skin.    
  
Makoto swallowed hard, and then clamped her white-hot hand over Hifumi’s cheek.  
  
Jezebel screamed a banshee wail that Makoto hoped would never again stain Hifumi’s lips. Jezebel shuddered and convulsed, her aura of red fire flickering between blazing in outrage and guttering completely. Jezebel smashed Makoto aside and scrambled to her feet, clawing at her cheek. Silvery white-blue light pierced Jezebel’s aura of hellish red.  
  
The stigma, smoking and inky-black, dripped from Hifumi’s cheek like a bad tattoo.  
  
Hifumi’s eyes snapped open, her aura abruptly inverting from red and black to blue and white. Blue flames rose from her form, a mark, like molten silver, inscribing itself over the scar on her cheek where the stigma had been burned away. A voice rumbled from within her, one similar to, but distinct from, Jezebel’s sensual purr- from what Jezebel had been, before the stigma had driven her berserk.  
  
_Thou art I… and I am thou._ _  
__  
__The rogue angel, Mastema, dragged the darkest part of us into the light._ _  
__  
__Jezebel **was** you- but she was not **all** of you. She wanted only to survive. __  
__  
__But you want more than that, don’t you? You want to_ ** _belong_** _._ _  
__  
__I, too, was once condemned for considering myself man’s equal._ _  
__  
__I, too, was made victim. Made a demon, to assuage man’s pride._ _  
__  
__But Jezebel was right about one thing-_ _  
__  
__You are no one’s pawn. You are a Queen._ _  
__  
__And my crown is yours, if you but utter my name…_  
  
The aura of roiling flames vanished, and Hifumi fell to her knees on the pavement, still riding the exhilarating rush of power. A card emblazoned with the Roman numeral XVII drifted lazily out of the air.  
  
“Lilith,” Hifumi whispered, and the card disappeared- vanishing into a bloom of light over her heart.  
  
“He’s gone,” Hifumi murmured, stunned with relief. She touched the silver scar on her cheek where the stigma had once been, tears brimming in her eyes.  
  
“He’s gone!” Hifumi announced, crawling over to where Makoto lay prone on the street. “He’s gone, Mako! You… you saved me…”  
  
Hifumi’s joy died in her throat. She reached out in blank-faced horror, fingertips tracing the trio of obsidian shards transfixing Makoto’s chest.  
  
“Makoto…?” Hifumi whispered. Storm clouds rolled overhead.  
  
“...Oh, no…” she gasped, tears falling like rain. “...no, no, no…”  
  
~*~  
  
The only light in the Bunker was the dull yellow of emergency lighting and the fuzz of gray static across every screen. There were ghosts in the noise- words and faces, grimacing in pain or cruel laughter.  
  
Fuuka typed furiously at her terminal, before huffing in frustration and slapping her laptop shut.  
  
“Anything?” Sae asked beside her, crouched over Kikuno, stirring from her curse-induced sleep.  
  
“Nothing,” Fuuka sighed, and shook her head.  
  
PSICOM’s network was compromised, and all the comms had gone ominously silent. Fuuka stepped forwards, feeling the flickers of blue fire lapping at her heels. She took a deep breath and lifted her head, clasping her hands over her heart.  
  
_This is Chief Yamagishi_ , she cast into the aether. _Can anyone hear me? Is there anyone still out there?_ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Akira woke gasping. He coughed and choked, black smoke rising from his nostrils. He drew a gloved hand across his mouth, before staring out in wonder, eyes wide.  
  
He was floating in a dark, blue-tinted void, with lights in the distance that may or may not have been stars. He kicked his feet and drifted forward, weightless. The others were with him- some of them stirring, couching, wreathed in black smoke, the others still fast asleep.  
  
Things were suspended in the void around him, like asteroids, or shards of glass. He saw one, a mass of strangely blue-tinted shadow shaped like a piece of paper crumpled into a ball. He touched it, and it drifted away into the vast nothing.  
  
He found Lavenza nearby, clutching her compendium to her chest like a child clutching their favorite doll. He touched her on the shoulder, and she jumped, eyes wide.  
  
“S-Sorry,” Akira said, sheepish. “Where are we, Lavenza?”  
  
Akira swallowed.  
  
“Are we… dead…?”  
  
Lavenza shook her head.  
  
“Then where are we?” Akira asked.  
  
Lavenza held up her hand. The silver key shone like a star between her fingers.  
  
“We’re… halfway,” Lavenza said, her voice suddenly very small.  
  
Akira shivered.    
  
It was cold, in the space between the worlds.  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time on **The Second Renaissance** …_
> 
> “As of this moment, the city of Tokyo is under lockdown.”
> 
> “This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter…”
> 
> “I bear a message from the Silver City. Who speaks for mankind?”
> 
> “These people need a hero.”
> 
> “No. People need other people.”
> 
> “We defeated Erebus… but at what cost…?”
> 
> “Makoto… you saved me, Makoto. Now, I’ll save you.”
> 
>  
> 
> _The World is changing, and the end draws near. Witness it, next time on **The Second Renaissance: The Price**._


	9. The Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tokyo is lost. 
> 
> Two days into the Tokyo Blackout. Night has fallen, and the city may well come with it. Erebus, the Father of Death, has been defeated- but callsign Rogue’s shining victory has been swallowed up, smothered in the primal darkness unleashed in Erebus’ dying throes. Across the city, Hifumi has been freed from her false Awakening- but that, too, is a victory that comes at a price. 
> 
> Darkness has taken the city. But love, and loyalty, still shine through. 
> 
> The World is changing.
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat_   
>  _I tried to find the sound_   
>  _But then, it stopped, and I was in the darkness_   
>  _So darkness I became..._
> 
> We're hitting the home stretch, guys. I want to thank you all for sticking with me this far. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride. ^^

~*~  
  
_Makoto dreams._ _  
_ _  
_ _She sways in a boat carved from a dead god’s bones, hearing the slosh and slap of the lightless water against the shore. The ferryman nods at her, his face hidden behind a hood and black veil._ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto steps onto the shore, feeling the soft give of gray silt beneath her feet. Everything is gray in this place. The air, the earth, the water. Even Makoto’s clothes, her skin. Everything except her eyes, which still hold a trace of red._ _  
_ _  
_ _The sky is overcast, but there is still light- a gentle, silver light, like the moon trying but not quite succeeding in breaking through the clouds._ _  
_ _  
_ _Beyond the gray shore, there is a forest of bleached, bone-white trees, and through that forest, there is a path._ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto nods courteously to the silent, inscrutable ferryman, before fixing her eyes forward. The path stretches out before her, into the long dark, into nothing._ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto sighs, her breath misting in the frigid air of the Sunless Road._ _  
_ _  
_ _Slowly, warily, Makoto begins to walk..._  
  
~*~  
  
_Sae dreams._ _  
_ _  
_ _She is adrift in the ocean, surrounded by green light. Forests of kelp drift in the waves around her. Sunlight glimmers above. It’s cold. It’s cold, and so far away…_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sae wakes with a start, feeling hands on her. She shoves them away, instincts flaring, ready for a fight._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Whoa, whoa!” Sanae jumps. “Easy, dearie. It’s just little ol’ me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sae blinks. “Mrs. Sakamoto? How… How did you know…?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“A mother always knows,” Sanae grins._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sae smiles back. But then the headache hits her, and she grimaces, clutching her temples. Memories flash by- the false Mitsuru at her computer, Maxwell’s cane shining green._ _  
_ _  
_ _She clamps a hand on the edge of Mitsuru’s bed and pulls herself up off the floor. Below her, Agent Wen is sprawled, unconscious, across the sheets. Sae studies him for a long moment, working her jaw._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sojiro barges in, looking Sae up and down._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, with his usual level of subtlety._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Help him,” Sae mutters._ _  
_ _  
_ _She shoulders past Sojiro, tucking something into her belt. Sanae immediately sets about waking Wen from his magically-induced slumber. When shaking him by the shoulders doesn’t work, she just slaps him across the face. He wakes with a start, blinking flickers of green light from the corners of his eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ow,” he mutters, deadpan, rubbing his eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re welcome,” Sanae chirps._ _  
_ _  
_ _Wen flashes Sanae a rueful look. Then he sits up, frowning, glancing at the door, his hand reaching for his now-empty holster..._  
  
~*~  
  
A storm was coming.  
  
He could hear it, rumbling in the distance. He could feel the tremor underfoot. He could see the light flashing over the rooftops. He could feel it in his bones.  
  
Mostly, he saw it, in the handful of men in rumpled suits passing out the stock he’d been saving for a rainy day.  
  
Munehisa Iwai stood, watching as his friends unloaded the guns from his van. He sniffed. ‘Friends’ might be a little much. They were gangsters, all of them, or they used to be; still, he’d rather stick with them over the monsters running through the streets.  
  
Iwai crossed his arms, his back against an alley wall. He surveyed the crowd before him. They were a ragtag bunch. Retail workers, office drones, teachers, clerks, kids. Iwai saw a girl in a high school uniform sling an assault rifle over her shoulder like it was a backpack. Most of these people had probably never held a gun in their lives. The ones that had, well…  
  
There was a bang in the distance. Iwai flinched, chomping down on his lollipop. He disdainfully flicked the stick onto the sidewalk and pulled another one out of his pocket.  
  
He vaguely became aware of someone staring at him. One of his… Iwai didn’t want to use the word ‘militia’, so he was going with ‘volunteers’. A little bright-eyed pretty boy. He’d be a hit with the ladies, Iwai thought, if not for his lack of fashion sense and loud, obnoxious demeanor.  
  
“What’s with the lollipop?” the kid blurted out.  
  
“Ever since I quit smoking,” Iwai said, popping a fresh one in his mouth. “You okay, kid?”  
  
“Don’t call me ‘kid’,” the boy huffed. “If you can call me ‘kid’, I get to call you ‘old man’.”  
  
“I _am_ an old man,” Iwai muttered, wistful. “Got a grown son and everything. He’s… shit, he’s right about your age, right now.”  
  
“Where is he?” the boy asked.  
  
“College,” Iwai said. He sighed. “All the way out in the country. He’s probably better off. Means he’s not here, for this shitshow.”  
  
Iwai glanced at the boy.  
  
“You sure you’re okay?”  
  
The boy fidgeted, adjusting his grip on the pistol, dense and heavy in his slim hands.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said softly. “It’s just…”  
  
“Your first time holding a real one?” Iwai finished, nodding. “Yeah, I get that…”  
  
Across the street, a woman was giving the gathered crowd a crash course in firearm safety and operation. As she lectured, another woman paced the sidewalk, muttering to herself. She loaded a magazine into her pistol and toggled off the safety. She flicked the safety back on and ejected the magazine, and then she loaded it again. Practice, practice, practice.  
  
“How are you feeling?” a woman asked, sitting on the curb.  
  
The other woman flopped down beside her with a sigh. She set her pistol down on the sidewalk.  
  
“I feel like I’d be a better shot with a camera than with this damn thing,” she muttered.  
  
“Hey, cheer up. Tell you what, once this is all over, we can head over to the bar,” her companion said.  
  
She grinned. “You know me so well.”  
  
“Well, you know. Psychic.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Just a little ways away, the lecture was winding down. Iwai slipped through the ranks of the dispersing crowd, making a beeline for the woman at the head of the group. She sighed, trailing a hand through her dark, curly hair.  
  
“Think they’re ready?” Iwai asked.  
  
“As they’ll ever be, considering who they’re working with,” she muttered.  
  
“Aww, c’mon, Teach. You’re a natural. What is it you teach, anyway?”  
  
“High school Japanese,” she rolled her eyes. “This is my first time teaching ‘Gun’.”  
  
Iwai flashed her a reassuring smile. At least, he hoped it looked reassuring. People have told him his smiles look more threatening than anything.  
  
“It’s gonna be fine,” he said, but she shook her head.  
  
“Storm’s coming,” Kawakami murmured, worried, watching the horizon.  
  
Chihaya felt it before anyone else. She got to her feet, studying the sky, the faintest trace of blue fire flickering around her form. Ohya clambered to her feet, resting a hand on Chihaya’s shoulder.  
  
“Hey,” Ohya murmured, tense. “What’s-”  
  
There was a tremendous bang, like thunder directly overhead. An instant later, there came the flash- not lightning, but a second sun bursting into bloom over the city streets, so brilliant it was almost blinding. The shockwave ripped the ground out from beneath their feet. They shouted out in pain and fear as they hit the pavement, their voices utterly stolen by the deafening blast. Moments later, the enormous flare of radiant light inverted itself, becoming a huge pillar of roiling black smoke, gathering above the city like a thunderhead.  
  
An impenetrable darkness engulfed Tokyo’s Shibuya ward. Iwai stood, wide-eyed, at the horrific pall of black smoke rising from the street only a few blocks away. He turned, meeting Kawakami’s equally stunned and astonished eyes.  
  
“That was big,” Kawakami said blankly, dazed.  
  
Iwai shook his head, gazing up at the smoke.  
  
“What the hell was that…?”  
  
~*~  
  
From one moment to the next, Shibuya Crossing vanished.  
  
Erebus perished, and took the city with it- his final, dying roar swallowed up in the deafening cataclysm unleashed in his death throes. A cascade of roiling darkness surged down every adjoining street, flooding in through ruined storefronts and shattered windows, shredding wood, crumbling brick, scorching blackened silhouettes onto concrete.  
  
Now, the darkness lingered, rising in a thunderhead of black storm clouds. It’s supposed to rain at funerals- and it certainly looked like one now, storm clouds overhead, the obliterated husks of skyscrapers looming like tombstones above the devastation..  
  
Ryuji slowly blinked himself awake. The darkness pressed in around him, only barely kept at bay by the aura of blue fire flickering about his form. He rolled over onto his stomach, streaming dust, ash, and powdered concrete. His new yellow robe, courtesy of Seiten Taisei, was tattered- torn to shreds by flying debris. Ryuji pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his whole body aching in protest, wondering, vaguely, how he was even this much intact.  
  
“Aki-” he began, but then doubled over, beset by hacking coughs. Black smoke wisped up from cracked, bleeding lips.  
  
“Akira!” Ryuji called out again. “Ann, Shiho! Anybody!”  
  
“Over here!”  
  
Shiho climbed out of a pile of rubble, coughing up dust and smoke. She raised a hand, a wisp of green magic swirling at her fingertips. A conjured breeze swept across the street, parting the suffocating smoke cloud, if only for a moment.  
  
Shiho searched the area, her eyes dazed, unfocused. When she saw Ryuji coming, she half-ran, half-fell into his arms. They held each other for a long moment, both of them still speechless in the face of the catastrophe around them.  
  
Shiho pulled back, Ryuji’s arms still around her waist. She blinked, looking up at him.  
  
“You’re hurt,” she said, watching blood dribble from Ryuji’s split lip and a gash on his forehead. She raised her hand, her fingertips shining a soothing green.  
  
“Forget about me,” Ryuji said, tugging Shiho’s wrist away. “Have you seen-”  
  
There was a sound, and Ryuji yanked Shiho behind him, ready to fight. A pile of rubble shifted and settled with a clatter, pebbles and crumbled pavement littering the street. Ryuji saw tattered black cloth, red boots-  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Ryuji said. “Ann!”  
  
Ann lay crumpled in a pile of shattered pavement in the middle of the street. Her eyes were closed, and she looked strangely serene- almost like she was- like she was…  
  
Ann sat up so abruptly she almost bonked her head into Ryuji’s. Her eyes snapped open, taking in the destruction around her. She gasped in shock- and then immediately doubled over, beset by a coughing fit.  
  
“Holy-” Ann coughed. “Holy _shit_ . What… what happened…?”  
  
“There was an explosion,” Shiho explained. She helped Ann to her feet, and they pressed their foreheads together, fingers intertwined.  
  
“We got him,” Ryuji said. “Or, well, _you_ got him. That was one hell of a shot.”  
  
“I think I might’ve overdone it,” Ann muttered, gazing in wonder at the obliterated ruins of Shibuya Crossing. She squeezed Shiho’s hand.  
  
“...God…” Ann said, her voice trembling, “...this is... “  
  
She trailed off, shaking her head. Ashes and dust swirled through the air like snow.  
  
Haru and Yusuke appeared and sidled up to the group without a word. Physically, they seemed improbably unruffled- Haru even managed to hold onto her hat, somehow, despite being hurled down a city block by an explosion. But despite this, they were quiet, troubled, sparing the others only muted greetings. Haru squeezed Yusuke’s hand, their fingers entwined, both of them staring vacantly at the pavement.  
  
“Hey!” someone called out, their voice cutting through the gloom. “Can anyone help me?”  
  
Yukari emerged from the smoke, an unconscious Mitsuru draped over her shoulders. Ryuji hurried over and helped ease Mitsuru down onto the cracked pavement. Yukari swiped a sleeve across her brow, smearing her face with soot and sweat. There were exhausted shadows under her eyes.  
  
She snapped her fingers, once, twice, three times, each time, sparks of green healing power flickering across her hand but failing to catch. Shiho stepped in, mustering a tiny green flame at her fingertips. She gently pressed the wisp of light into Mitsuru’s chest. Mitsuru woke gasping, coughing and sputtering black smoke.  
  
Mitsuru got to her feet, groaning and rubbing her eyes. A headache throbbed in her temples.  
  
“Status report?” Mitsuru asked wearily, studying the dazed faces all around her.  
  
“We won,” Ryuji said simply.  
  
“I don’t know if we have,” Yusuke said, nodding down the street. “Look.”  
  
Erebus’ death explosion left a massive crater in the center of Shibuya Crossing where the barricade once stood, and had blasted open Shibuya Station, exposing the Underground to the open air. Peering over the edge of the crater, however, one didn’t see a mere subway station. For in the midst of the smashed concrete and water gushing from ruptured pipes, there was a smoke rising from a rift deep underground. A smoke… or a fog, lit from within by a murky, hellish red light. Eyes gazed out of the miasmal smoke, hateful eyes and scuttling limbs and gnashing teeth, a chorus of inhuman voices, chittering, singing, exulting, by the hundreds, by the _thousands_ …  
  
Mitsuru gazed into the abyss, eyes wide. She swallowed hard, pressing her lips into a line.  
  
“We have to go,” she said firmly. She spun on her heel and made to leave.  
  
“Wait a second!” Ryuji protested. “W-What about Akira? What about Morgana, or Lavenza?”  
  
“We have to go!” Mitsuru snapped.  
  
Behind them, the first arms appeared on the lip of the crater- the first demons clawing their way onto the surface, rising up out of the abyss.  
  
“Link up with the retreating column!” Mitsuru called, ushering them all away. “Break east!”  
  
Ryuji hesitated, searching the smoke for their missing friends. Ann grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him down the street.  
  
“Come on!” Ann yelled, breaking into a run. “ _Come on!_ ”  
  
~*~  
  
“Come on,” Fuuka murmured, anxious. Her laptop screen juddered and flickered, like an old film reel caught between frames. She smacked the casing, and the image resolved itself. All around her, the Bunker command room was similarly indisposed- Operators slumped at their desks or fighting with unresponsive terminals, every screen filled with erratic, incoherent streams of code or just dead, gray static.  
  
Yoshida blinked himself awake. When he saw who had revived him, he woke with a start and squirmed away.  
  
“W-What is that? A potion?” he stammered.  
  
“It’s _ammonia_ ,” Tae said, rolling her eyes. “You make me sound like some kind of witch.”  
  
Yoshida cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. In his peripheral vision, he saw PSICOM medical staff prowling through the command room, rousing Operators from their psionically-induced slumber, glass vials and wads of cloth in their hands.  
  
“Forgive me, doctor,” Yoshida said. “You simply have a, ah, reputation.”  
  
“Says the man who lost ten elections in a row,” Tae teased.  
  
“Seven,” Yoshida muttered, sheepish. “It was only seven…”  
  
Back at her desk, Fuuka took a shuddering breath, fighting back her anxiety. There was a weight in the air, a palpable dread, that hadn’t been there before. Fuuka could feel it, in the wordless space of her mind, but that didn’t matter now. PSICOM was blind. It was blind, deaf, and mute, and Fuuka needed to fix that. So she pushed aside the faceless chorus, the nagging, fearful voices, and focused on the other voices cutting through the air.  
  
“Network!” Fuuka called out.  
  
“Diagnostic underway,” an Operator replied.  
  
“I need a full damage assessment as soon as possible,” Fuuka said. “Broadcast? Visual?”  
  
“Broadcasting and visual uplink are both offline, Chief,” someone responded.  
  
“Get me something, anything,” Fuuka said. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair.  
  
Sae appeared beside her, helping Kikuno to her feet.  
  
“How does it look out there?” Sae wondered.  
  
“See for yourself,” Fuuka muttered ruefully, gesturing to her console. Line after line of meaningless, corrupt data scrolled down the screen.  
  
“We’re blind,” Fuuka huffed. “We’re blind, and we’re deaf. Last thing we knew, Director Kirijo had ordered all allied forces to move east towards the Tokyo Diet Building while she and callsign Rogue covered the retreat at Shibuya Crossing.”  
  
“And now?” Sae asked.  
  
Fuuka sighed. She shook her head.  
  
“Your guess is as good as mine.”  
  
They turned at the sound of a commotion at the door. Sojiro and Sanae marched into the command room, making a beeline for Fuuka’s desk, while an exasperated Agent Wen trailed at their heels.  
  
“You can’t be in here!” Wen whined.  
  
“Don’t give me that,” Sojiro snarled, stomping up to Fuuka’s desk, fixing her with his stern gaze.  
  
“What’s going on out there?” Sojiro demanded. “Where are my kids?”  
  
~*~  
  
Akira drifted, weightless, between the worlds.  
  
Everything in this place was tinged an eerie, midnight blue, casting the whole world in the sleepy glow of a moonlit night. Sight and sound worked strangely here. His vision blurred and refocused. Sounds were either muffled, like there was cotton in his ears, or else they were startlingly clear, like they were right behind him.  
  
Impish laughter rang out behind him. Akira spun around, catching a flicker of red hair and light glinting off glasses.  
  
“Taba?” Akira gasped, watching the glimpse of red vanish into the dark. “Futaba!”  
  
“She isn’t here,” Lavenza said, looming nearby. “None of them are.”  
  
“What?” Akira asked. “But I could’ve sworn they-”  
  
“They are only echoes,” Lavenza explained, eyes distant. “Phantoms.”  
  
Akira nodded. Voices followed him through the darkness, snippets of conversation, shouts of fear and wonder. Akira could’ve sworn he heard Ryuji call his name, before descending into a coughing fit. Akira merely frowned at the ghostly whispers and followed Lavenza through the weightless, shadowed world. He swam through the air like it was water, while she walked with a purpose, though whatever it was, she wouldn’t say.  
  
“Hey!” a voice called out. Akira was ready to dismiss it as another echo.  
  
“Hey!” Morgana yelled, and crashed into Akira from behind, sending them both tumbling.  
  
“Hey!” Akira grumbled, spinning, weightless, through the void. “Where did you come from? Did you have to jump on me like that?”  
  
“Sorry,” Morgana said, sheepish. “I didn’t know how to stop.”  
  
“Morgana,” Lavenza said, offering him the barest of nods. “You are unharmed. I am glad.”  
  
“Thanks,” Morgana drawled, grinning like an idiot. “It’s good to see you, too.”  
  
Akira gave him a dubious look, eyes flicking between the two. Lavenza continued on, oblivious, Akira and Morgana following at a distance.  
  
“Do you remember what happened?” Akira asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Morgana replied. “We hit Erebus with everything we had. There was an explosion… and then I woke up here.”  
  
“Where even is ‘here’, exactly?”  
  
“It’s nowhere,” Morgana said. “It’s In-Between. This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter… it’s easy to get in, if you have an invitation. But it’s a lot harder to get out.”  
  
Akira looked at him. Their eyes met- stormy gray and shining blue.  
  
“So… we’re trapped here…?”  
  
Morgana sighed and shook his head.  
  
“Some victory,” he muttered. “We defeated Erebus, but at what cost…? What if we… what if we gave so much to fight him, that we have nothing left…?”  
  
“We’re still alive,” Akira offered. “We survived. That’s not nothing.”  
  
“It will be if we just wind up stuck between worlds,” Morgana pouted.  
  
“Be patient,” Akira said. “Lavenza knows what she’s doing. She’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Prometheus!” Futaba cried.  
  
Power surged through the room like a strong breeze, and blue fire flashed across Futaba’s glasses. She set to work immediately, gazing at something only she could see. Makoto lay below her on the cool tile floor of the church in Kanda. Makoto’s armor, shiny and new, dissolved into wisps of blue fire- revealing her skin, pale, cold, and growing sticky with her own blood.  
  
Eli hurried back from the church annex, a first aid kit in his hands, with far more urgent things on his mind than Makoto’s sudden transformation back into her casual clothes. He fell to his knees beside Futaba, tearing open a pack of gauze.  
  
The power of Futaba’s Persona granted her knowledge, but not skill. She did not have the practiced calm and steady hands of a trained medical professional. What she had was a crash course in first aid, streaming down the insides of her glasses like strings of code, and hands that twitched and trembled with restless, manic energy.  
  
Futaba yanked something out of Makoto’s chest and tossed it aside, pressing a pack of gauze to the ghastly wound beneath. It skittered across the tile floor, tinkling like glass.  
  
Hifumi flinched. She stared at the shard of obsidian, knife-like and glinting in the church’s candlelight.  
  
Hifumi had carried Makoto into the church, not wanting to leave her out on the street. But after she’d made it inside, Futaba shoved her away and took over. Hifumi sank onto a pew bench, numb, her coattails swishing against her legs.  
  
Her true Awakening had transformed her clothing in a flash of blue fire, granting her white breeches, tall black riding boots, and a glossy black tailed coat that glinted like obsidian in the light. Lilith’s power thrummed inside her, invigorating, exhilarating- but Hifumi had never felt more powerless.  
  
It was just like Jezebel tearing Mastema apart while trapping Hifumi in her own head, or, perhaps, like being a shogi master in the middle of a citywide crisis. All the power, all the skill she could want- except for where it really mattered.  
  
“Come on, come on…!” Futaba hissed through gritted teeth. The gauze dressings were already soaked through. She held out her hand, and Eli obligingly gave her a fresh pack.  
  
Futaba growled, leering at the data feed running down her glasses. Prometheus’ instructions were far from encouraging.  
  
_Do not move the victim._ _  
_ _  
_ _Do not remove the impaling object, as that is actually stemming the blood flow._ _  
_ _  
_ _If the bleeding cannot be stopped within ten minutes…_ _  
_ _  
_ Eli knew the signs, too. For all of Futaba’s frantic efforts, the wounds were too great. It had taken too long to stop the bleeding. Now, the bleeding was slowing to a trickle, and Eli had a grim feeling that it had nothing to do with their gauze.  
  
Eli shook his head sadly. Nasty way to go. Three stabs to the chest. Two between the ribs. One to the collarbone, right beside the point where a cultist tried to bite out Makoto’s throat.  
  
One inch to the right.  
  
They didn’t stand a chance.  
  
Futaba knew. She had to. If she didn’t, then Prometheus was telling her. But she kept holding the gauze to Makoto’s chest and throat, tears streaking down her face.  
  
Futaba felt a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.  
  
“Let her go,” Eli whispered. Futaba took a shuddering breath.  
  
“No!” Futaba shrieked, shoving Eli’s hand away. “I can do it! I can do it!”  
  
“Futaba…” Hifumi said gently.  
  
“Shut up!” Futaba snapped. “ _You_ did this! Now shut up and let me fix it!”  
  
Hifumi recoiled. She stared at the ground, eyes wet.  
  
“That’s not fair, Taba,” Kana murmured.  
  
“Shut up! Shut up, shut up!” Futaba screeched. “I can do it! I can…”  
  
Kana took a shuddering breath. She lifted her head, framed by candlelight and the colored flickers of stained glass. She pushed away the sound of grief and desperation, lifting her head towards the light. Eyes met hers from above, eyes rendered in carved wood and painted glass, angels and saints.  
  
Kana did the only thing she could think of doing.  
  
She fell to her knees, and began to pray.  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, an exodus of ragged JSDF troopers, escorted by PSICOM agents, was fleeing the Shibuya barricade. They trudged along, exhausted and afraid, framed from behind by the ominous black smoke cloud rising from Shibuya Crossing. It looked, for all the world, like a bomb had gone off. The cloud seemed to leech all light out of the sky, leaving the retreating column to shuffle along in a fearful quiet.  
  
“Anything?” Aigis was asking.  
  
“Just a moment...” Caryn said, tinkering with her headset. Lam had salvaged the portable terminal from the field station, and was now carrying it on his back. Caryn followed just behind him, tapping at the screen, listening intently to her headphones. The indicator needle on the side of the terminal flicked and jumped, hunting for a signal.  
  
“...Nothing,” Caryn said with a sigh. “I’ve heard nothing from the Bunker or from callsign Rogue.”  
  
“Keep trying,” Aigis said.  
  
Caryn nodded, and hurried away.  
  
Aigis sighed, sagging with fatigue. Labrys hoisted her up, letting Aigis lean on her shoulder.  
  
“You don’t have to carry me,” Aigis murmured, as they trudged along.  
  
“You’re not walkin’ alone, and ain’t no one else can carry ya,” Labrys shrugged.  
  
“I’ll thank you not to comment on my weight,” Aigis teased.  
  
“Eh, it’s all in ammunition,” Labrys grinned.  
  
Aigis smiled, but it was a pained smile. Her uniform coat was shredded, its tattered remnants hanging loosely off her frame. Beneath it, the white enamel casing of her mechanical chassis was cracked and ruptured. Sparks crackled from her damaged inner systems- battle scars from her leading the defense of Shibuya barricade, before Erebus swatted aside a unit of JSDF armor and crushed Aigis beneath a main battle tank.  
  
“‘S what you get, anyhow,” Labrys said softly. “Playin’ the hero like that.”  
  
“I was only doing my duty,” Aigis said.  
  
“Not that that’s a bad thing, mind,” Labrys continued. She looked up, studying the rows of battered, exhausted soldiers trudging east along with them. Their eyes were wide, unfocused. Some let their weapons hang limp in their hands or dangling from straps; others held their weapons too tightly, flinching at every sound.  
  
“Look at ‘em,” Labrys said. “These people need a hero.”  
  
“No,” Aigis said. “People need other people.”  
  
Someone shouted down the street, and an anxious murmur rippled through the crowd. Aigis heard it- the beating of mighty wings. Shadows stirred in the unnatural darkness behind them. Aigis turned to face it, while Labrys hefted her battleaxe across her shoulders, gazing out into the dark.  
  
“What now…?” Labrys wondered.  
  
A man shuffled out into the street, hugging his arms to his chest. Beneath his tattered, stained robe and cloak, he was covered in a multitude of slashing wounds, criss-crossing his chest, as well as soot stains and ugly, weeping burns.  
  
Long hair. Black wings…  
  
Aigis’ optics registered a match- the angel who held the ritual at Yoyogi Park. The one who’d summoned Erebus to this world with the promise of death.  
  
“You,” Aigis said, glowering. “Have you come to finish what your pet daemon started?”  
  
“No,” Mastema grumbled, black blood trickling from his mouth. “This is spite. Petty spite, plain and simple.”  
  
Mastema raised a hand, and his personal guard stepped forth- a legion of Powers in chipped red armor, bearing shields, spears, and an inky nothing where their eyes should have been. They charged, spears held high, in an eerie, blank-eyed silence, while Mastema clutched his bloody robes to his chest and vanished into the dark.  
  
~*~  
  
Akira and Morgana quietly followed Lavenza through the shifting blue shadows of the In-Between. It was a strange, paradoxical place. The vastness of it stretched out, an impossible emptiness without so much as a horizon to gauge distance, but it still felt small, closed-off, constricting. Blooms of material drifted like asteroids through the void, but those were hardly ideal landmarks. Lavenza was the only one who seemed to know where she was going- but wherever that was, she still wouldn’t say.  
  
“Lavenza,” Akira said. “What happened to the Velvet Room?”  
  
“It was attacked,” Lavenza said curtly, her jaw tight.  
  
“Is that why…” Akira swallowed. “Is that why I can’t feel my Personae?”  
  
Lavenza stopped. She clutched the compendium to her chest, furrowing her brow in thought.  
  
“I felt something, right when the blackout began,” Akira continued. “A migraine, or something. And ever since, I haven’t been able to feel my Personae inside my head. Is this why? Because of what happened to the Velvet Room? Because of whatever happened here?”  
  
“I cannot be certain,” Lavenza murmured, eventually.  
  
“That might be it, but not all of it,” Morgana said. “A Persona is a manifestation of your psyche. The form it takes is, well, not the actual gods or folk heroes, but a reflection of them- a guise, an echo. My Persona isn’t the actual Mercurius, messenger of the gods, but it takes his form because his role is a reflection of mine. Likewise, Lavenza uses Kaguya not because it’s the actual Kaguya, but because it’s fitting. She’s… y’know… a princess from another world.”  
  
Akira shot Morgana a knowing look. Morgana blushed and looked away.  
  
“You aren’t who you were before,” Lavenza said. She turned, gazing up at Akira with her dazzling golden eyes. “A Persona is the embodiment of your purpose, your desires. And your desires have changed, have they not?”  
  
A memory flicked across Akira’s vision. Arsene’s voice rang out, echoes from what felt like a lifetime ago...  
  
_Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice… call upon my name, and release thy rage…!_  
  
“Rage against injustice,” Lavenza was saying, “flying the flag of revolution… Arsene answered your call because of who you were then. But that is not who you are now, is it, Trickster?”  
  
“No,” Akira said, sighing. “That feels so long ago. I was ready to take on the world. Now, all I want is to settle down, and put all this fighting behind me. I just want to take care of me and mine.”  
  
“A humble ambition,” Lavenza said. “And not an ignoble one. But the likes of Satanael, the Wings of Rebellion, will not answer the call of one who is unwilling to change the world.”  
  
“I never wanted to change the world. I don’t even know if I want to save it,” Akira said. “But I’ll tell you this, Lavenza. The people I care about… the people I love… I’d do anything to save them. I did it before. And I’d do it again.”  
  
~*~  
  
_Makoto walks the path at the end of all things._ _  
_ _  
_ _Ghosts walk beside her, in this colorless, monochrome place. Phantoms, veiled in gray. Many of them are old. Some are young. Too young. Makoto watches a child crawl forward on its hands and knees. Silently she wishes someone would help it. But the spectres around her trudge forward in silence, eyes fixed forward, alone in their grief._ _  
_ _  
_ _Perhaps it is her Gift that allows her to see her companions on the road. Perhaps, to all the phantoms beside her, there are no others; only the bone-white trees and the clouded, sunless sky, and the road of gray silt beneath their feet._ _  
_ _  
_ _In the distance, the road leads into a great bank of gray fog. The path, in places so densely wooded the branches of neighboring trees seem to be reaching out to grab her, begins to thin._ _  
_ _  
_ _In the clearing, before the vast gray nothing, there stands a woman in black._ _  
_ _  
_ _Her hair is as dark as the blackest night, and her skin is white as snow. A white ankh hangs around her neck. Its sibling, a smaller, black ankh tattoo, falls like a teardrop from the woman’s right eye. Looking into her eyes was like gazing into the night sky; and in the shadow of her footsteps, she heard the beating of mighty wings._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Makoto,” she says, with a warm, motherly smile- not that Makoto would know, as she has not seen her own mother in many, many years. “Take my hand.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman pulls off a black velvet glove and extends her hand. A white snake slithers out of the woman’s sleeve and coils around her wrist, watching, waiting._ _  
_ _  
_ _Aside from Makoto’s own eyes, still touched with a hint of red, the snake’s eyes are the only splash of color in this world of black, white, and gray. They are a vivid, dazzling gold._ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto hesitates. Then, she reaches out her hand…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Wait,” a voice calls out, and Makoto’s vision ripples and blurs._ _  
_ _  
_ _There is someone behind her. Not a gray-veiled phantom, but a young woman- a girl, her robe split down the middle, one side black, the other white, clasped at her throat with a brooch bearing six oblong gems. Each of the gems shine with a brilliant ruby light, bright and clear, their clarity piercing the blurred, shifting darkness of the Sunless Road._ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman in black frowns and shakes her head. She strides towards Makoto, her long, black dress dusting the ground as she walks, each footstep echoing with the beating of mighty wings..._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Mastema’s personal legion of Powers gave no battle cry as they charged, mere empty shells turned to his will. They rushed forward in an eerie silence, the air filling with the beating of their wings and the clatter of their weapons.  
  
Labrys had no such inhibitions. She screamed out a war cry, her voice all-but drowned out by the thunderous whoosh of rockets igniting. Labrys met the charge head-on, living up to her callsign ‘Hammer’- her battleaxe smashing the lead Power down the street like so much crumpled tinfoil.  
  
Even injured, Aigis stood her ground. She snapped back the caps of her finger-mounted autoguns, taking up a braced firing stance. Muzzle flash erupted across her fingertips, and she mowed the charge down, spattering the street with black blood, tufts of feathers, and chipped slivers of red plate armor.  
  
For a few moments, the Kirijo Group’s Anti-Shadow Suppression Weapons lived admirably up to their names. But then the wing of Powers decided to stop throwing themselves at such formidable foes, seeking out softer targets.  
  
The rear ranks of the retreat hesitated, caught between continuing to flee or turning and lending Aigis and Labrys their support. Many of them, at the sight of the red-armored, dead-eyed spectres, decided to run. A few, a precious few, realized that they would never be able to outrun angels who could fly. They turned, readying their weapons, resolving to stand their ground.  
  
A trooper stopped, fumbling with her rifle. A Power bore down on her, shield up, spear poised to skewer her like a fish. The blade came flashing down. She raised her rifle, too slow, too slow-  
  
Aigis shoved the trooper backwards, grunting as the spear punched through her armored chassis and embedded itself in her arm. Aigis merely grit her teeth, and flexed, snapping the spear haft. She casually broke the Power’s neck with a backhanded slap.  
  
“Are you alright?” Aigis asked, but her voice was drowned out by the roar of Labrys’ weapon jets.  
  
Labrys ignited her boost rockets and hurled her axe around in a massive, rocket-assisted swing. The superhuman blow crunched through half a dozen Powers’ armor and flung their pulverized corpses down the street, skipping them off the pavement like stones across a pond. Labrys grit her teeth and put her all into another hefty swing- a little too hefty, perhaps, as she cleaved a Power straight through in a vertical slice, armor be damned, and wound up lodging her axe in the pavement. Labrys made a face as she struggled to pry her axehead out of the street.  
  
“Great,” Labrys muttered. “ _This_ is what we need. A sore loser of an angel, throwing a tantrum.”  
  
“Men and their pride,” Aigis frowned. She clamped a vice-like hand around the haft of Labrys’ battleaxe, and, together, freed it from the gouge Labrys had cut in the street.  
  
“Look sharp,” Aigis said, nodding down the street. “Here comes round two…”  
  
Though momentarily driven back by Aigis and Labrys’ dauntless defense, Mastema’s legion would not be denied. They massed for another charge, this time aiming for the vulnerable ranks of troopers at the duo’s backs.  
  
Aigis spotted their tactic in an instant. She braced her aim, tearing angels out of the sky in huge volleys of gunfire. They crashed down, their wings shredded, broken and bloody, and Labrys laid into them, their clipped wings ensuring no escape from her vicious axe swings.  
  
For a few precious moments, Aigis and Labrys, with the support of a handful of courageous troopers who still kept their wits after this long and exhausting night, made the street their killing ground.  
  
It didn’t last. It couldn’t. Heroes they might have been, but Aigis and Labrys were still only two.  
  
Labrys grimaced as she heard an anguished- and oh so human- scream of pain behind her. She turned, and saw a pair of JSDF troopers impaled on the same Power’s spear. The angel drew its spear arm back, using its shield to shove the poor soldiers off of its spear, before raising the blade again, poised to strike.  
  
Labrys crunched her battleaxe into the Power’s stomach. It lodged in its gut, and was yanked out of her hands by the tide of bodies. A spear scraped past her side and clanged against a trooper’s bayonet. The trooper parried the blade away, and as the next spear thrust came in over her shoulder, Labrys knocked the angel’s aim aside, the trooper scoring the kill.  
  
She grinned at Labrys in gratitude. An instant later, she died- her neck broken by a punching shield.  
  
Labrys grabbed the Power by the collar and lifted him over her head. She screamed a war cry and hurled him into his fellows, slamming into them with a crunch of metal and bowling them over into the street.  
  
“Damn it!” Labrys roared in frustration, as yet another Power slipped past her guard and mangled a trooper behind her. A shot punched through the Power’s throat and it fell away, gasping. Labrys caught a glimpse of Aigis across the battlefield- just a glimpse, and then they were swallowed up by the crowd.  
  
Aigis and Labrys were outnumbered. Even if they were heroes, even if they fought like a hundred men apiece, they’d still be overrun, and their troopers would-  
  
“Fire!”  
  
A voice cut through the numbing chaos, followed an instant later by the ringing, chattering chorus of automatic fire. A torrent of gunfire slammed into Mastema’s legion from the side, stopping the charge in its tracks. Powers fell by the dozens, their armored forms crumpling to the pavement, shorn black feathers drifting through the air.  
  
Like a leak in a garden hose, the charge lost momentum. The legion withdrew, forming a gap in the street through which a mob of Tokyoites spilled in, bearing black market firearms and improvised weapons- baseball bats, pipes, bottles, bricks. The mob surged into the street and fought back the charge, scattering them in a brief but sustained slaughter.  
  
When the dust cleared, Iwai stepped forward, resting a contraband assault rifle over his shoulder. Aigis looked him up and down.  
  
“Who are you?” Aigis asked.  
  
“Volunteers,” Iwai said.  
  
“Well, we’re glad to have you,” Aigis said. “We’re moving east, towards the National Diet Building, fleeing the Shibuya barricade. Would you like to join us?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Iwai grinned. “Say, lady. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… are you, like, a robot?”  
  
Aigis almost rolled her eyes. “That is an oversimplification, but-”  
  
“Chief!”  
  
Caryn’s voice cut through the air. Aigis nodded to Iwai in gratitude, before making a beeline through the crowd, leaving Iwai to deploy his militia as he saw fit, and leaving Labrys to pick her fallen battleaxe out of the rubble.  
  
Aigis found Caryn huddled over Lam’s portable terminal, Lam fidgeting and adjusting the weight of the heavy caster on his back.  
  
“Good news?” Aigis asked.  
  
“Debatable,” Lam muttered ruefully.  
  
“We have a signal,” Caryn said, handing Aigis a comm.  
  
Aigis clicked on the device, the indicator light glowing a steady green.  
  
“Shield Leader to all stations, Shield Leader to all stations,” Aigis called. “Does anyone copy?”  
  
~*~  
  
“This is Director Kirijo!” Mitsuru yelled into her earpiece, over the roar of battle and rushing wind behind her. Beside her, Yukari rose out of cover and fired an arrow of wind that sent a cluster of demons flying.  
  
“Aigis! Fuuka! Anybody!” Mitsuru cried. Beside her, Ann was roasting ranks of demons alive, while Ryuji punched the air and the group exploded apart as if hit by an artillery shell. Shining red eyes stared down at them from the encroaching miasma. Mitsuru could hear them, snapping at their heels…  
  
Mitsuru ducked beneath a ghoul’s swiping claw, parrying its next strike. Haru crunched her axe into the base of the ghoul’s spine and flung it sideways, spinning it with torque. Another wave of ghouls charged across the debris-strewn slope. Haru raised her hands, eyes flashing pink. The charge faltered, clutching at their heads in psionic-induced confusion. A moment later, they shuddered and died, impaled on a forest of frozen spears conjured up from the ground.  
  
“If anyone can hear this, tell the retreating column to pick up the pace!” Mitsuru cried, her sword shining white with frost. “Tell them all hell is coming after them!”  
  
~*~  
  
In the darkness between the worlds, Lavenza suddenly stopped in her tracks.  
  
Morgana felt it, too- a strange ripple of nostalgia, a hitch in his chest, a sudden tightness in his throat. He looked around, wondering. Lavenza let out a long, weary sigh.  
  
“...I apologize, Trickster,” Lavenza said, reaching out to touch a floating scrap of blue fabric. “I had my suspicions… but I had to be sure.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Akira wondered.  
  
“I have tried to access the Velvet Room, after fleeing it the first time,” Lavenza said. “Each time, I failed to even create the door. The fact that we were able to cross into the In-Between… did not bode well. But now, standing here, I am certain…”  
  
Lavenza exhaled. She opened her arms.  
  
“This is the Velvet Room,” Lavenza said. “Or, it was.”  
  
Akira stared at her.  
  
“No…” Morgana blinked, gawking. “...Then… Then Igor, and- and your siblings-”  
  
Lavenza nodded, hugging the compendium to her chest. She fixed her gaze forward, stubbornly fighting back tears.  
  
Akira swallowed hard. “...I’m so sorry, Lavenza.”  
  
“No!” Morgana cut in. “Our Master wouldn’t go down so easily, and neither would your sibs! You said the Faceless King was gunning for Earth, right? Well, he hasn’t shown up! Maybe- maybe he trashed the Velvet Room, but they’re still fighting him… somewhere…”  
  
“Morgana,” Akira said quietly.  
  
“We could find them!” Morgana pressed. “They could still be out there!”  
  
“That may be true,” Lavenza nodded, dabbing at her eyes with her gloves. “If they had been defeated outright, then I do not doubt Nyarlathotep would have already come to ravage Reality in person. But even if they’ve forced the Faceless King into a stalemate, the fact of the matter is that the Velvet Room now lies empty. And that will not do. Not at all.”  
  
Lavenza took a deep breath and sighed. She felt Morgana lay a hand on her shoulder. Beside her, Akira fondly laid a hand in her hair.  
  
In Lavenza’s grasp, the Velvet Key began to shine.  
  
“There is always Chaos,” Lavenza intoned, reverently, like a prayer. “There is always an Order to oppose it. And there is _always_ a path between.”  
  
Power exploded around them like a hurricane, a spiraling tempest of blue flame lighting up the void. Akira stared in wonder as rays of azure light reached out and drew in the drifting scraps of shadowy material, molding them, coalescing them into something solid.  
  
“Its form, like a story, changes with every telling,” Lavenza intoned, her words echoing with meaning. “But there is always a guide. There is always a host. There is always a guest…”  
  
Azure light blossomed around an island of solid ground, floating among the shapeless abyss. Akira warily touched down onto the carpeted floor, feeling, for the first time, a semblance of gravity.  
  
Lavenza still drifted just above the ground, bathed in the radiant light blooming from the Velvet Key. In the gleaming light, her humble blue dress was transformed into something more- a black, frilled dress, accented in silver, belted by a shimmering white ribbon that coiled into a butterfly at her back. The outline of a second, silver butterfly, gleamed from a brooch at her throat.  
  
The light faded, and Lavenza stumbled forward. She caught herself on the edge of a table lined in blue velvet and inscribed with an arcane seal. She clutched her head, breathing hard, staring down at the patterns imprinted and shimmering within the cloth.  
  
“Lavenza,” Akira said, reaching for her.  
  
“I’m alright,” Lavenza said. She took a deep breath. When she looked up at him, he recoiled- her eyes were blazing with a ferocious golden light.  
  
“Forgive me, Trickster,” Lavenza smiled, gesturing to the formless walls and blurring boundaries of her incomplete Velvet Room. “I do not doubt that my sisters, or even my brother, would have offered you greater accommodation…”  
  
“You’re doing great,” Akira grinned, though his eyes were wet.  
  
Lavenza sank heavily into the high-backed chair, leaning an elbow on her fortunetelling table. Morgana stood at her side, his brow creased with worry. Lavenza’s invocation had changed him, as well- transforming his sweater and denim jacket for a black dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, dark pants and dress shoes, along with a dark blue vest and bright yellow tie.  
  
Lavenza groaned, rubbing a black-gloved hand into her eyes.  
  
“Lavenza…?” Akira asked.  
  
“Forgive me, Trickster. I need… time,” Lavenza said.  
  
A luminous door appeared behind him. Akira glanced over his shoulder. He hesitated, glancing back at Lavenza and Morgana.  
  
“Your friends are waiting,” Lavenza said. “Go.”  
  
“But-” he said.  
  
“Go,” Morgana said. “I’ve got her.”  
  
Akira swallowed. Nodded. “Alright.”  
  
The door behind him was just a frame- an outline of light, with no physical door. But Akira stepped through, and suddenly he was falling, through the dark and the deep, the stars wheeling past, the ground rushing up to meet him...  
  
~*~  
  
Ryuji hit the ground so hard he blacked out for a split-second. He rolled over onto his stomach, tasting blood in his nose, his mouth.  
  
He got up and instantly recoiled, jerking away from a massive fist. A huge brute of a demon, a hulking beast with cloven hooves and ram horns atop its broad head, snorted at him, its breath misting in the air. The demon raised its arms above its head, bellowing out a roar.  
  
Ryuji rolled to the side as the two massive fists smashed a crater in the pavement where he’d been a second ago.  
  
Something shot over his head, and he ducked. A beam of searing fire set the beast alight, followed a second later by a shimmering green gale. The gust of wind ignited a firestorm, and the beast howled. It ran, burning, tossing aside its lesser brethren with hammer-swings of its huge fists. Already, more were rising to take its place.  
  
“Get up!” Haru said, hoisting Ryuji to his feet. “Get up, Ryu-kun! We’re almost there!”  
  
Ryuji got up, took a halting step, and then fell. Ann caught him, grunting at his weight.  
  
“Hey, hey, come on!” Ann said, mustering a thin wisp of healing power and jabbing it into his chest.  
  
“I can’t believe you woke me up for this,” Ryuji muttered, hugging Ann partly out of affection, partly because his exhausted legs couldn’t take much more running.  
  
“Be strong,” Shiho said, smiling, though she was just as exhausted as he was.  
  
“Only for you, buddy,” Ryuji muttered, flashing her a jocular grin.  
  
Yukari loosed a final arrow. It fizzled out on the way to its target, the ghoul flinching only for a moment instead of being blown apart. It charged in, shrieking. Yukari panted, her eyes drawn and weary. She raised her bow, willing an arrow to take shape. Green sparks flickered and failed to catch…  
  
Mitsuru stabbed the ghoul through the mouth and up through its soft palate, nailing its jaw shut. She dislodged the ghoul from her blade and kicked its frozen form onto the pavement with a crunch.  
  
Yukari and Mitsuru stood there for a long moment, breathing hard. Their eyes met.  
  
“Come on!” Yusuke cried out, shattering the moment. “Come on! They’re on us!”  
  
Mitsuru jolted back into action, taking Yukari by the arm and breaking into a run.  
  
“Almost there,” Yukari gasped, her legs burning. “Almost there…”  
  
“Look there!” Mitsuru called out.  
  
Down the street, callsign Rogue saw their salvation. Even with a tidal wave of demons bearing down on them, the last remnants of resistance stood tall. Aigis and Labrys were at the front, leading a mixed formation of JSDF troopers and PSICOM strike teams. Beside them, the people of Tokyo were gathered, from all walks of life- street punks, retail workers, gangsters, office drones, hosts and hostesses and bartenders and taxi drivers…  
  
And above them all, standing on the roof of a car, was Sadayo Kawakami, waving a flag. It was really a spear, dropped by a fallen Power, with a length of red cape skewered onto the haft. But in her hands, fluttering in the wind of the coming storm, it was a flag, billowing crimson, the color of revolution- of resistance.  
  
“Tokyo resists!” Kawakami screamed in defiance at the top of her lungs. “ **_Tokyo resists!_ ** ”  
  
~*~  
  
_“Come with me,” the girl says, offering her hand. Despite the bleak gray of their surroundings leeching all color from the air, her smile, and her words, and her hand, are healthy, warm- and alive._ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman in black stalks ever closer. Makoto stares at the girl’s hand, working her jaw._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Come!” the girl urges. “Quickly!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto takes the girl’s hand, and feels the Sunless Road crumble away…_ _  
_ _  
_ _Death snatches her other hand, and Makoto cries out, held between the worlds._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No one eludes me forever,” Death says, her voice low, but the words are a warning, not a mere threat. “Do this, and you will be marked. You get what everyone gets- a lifetime. But by fleeing me, now, you have ensured that your end will not come easily.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto cringes. The landscape drops out around her, until it is just Death and the girl, falling through the void, their grip tearing Makoto in two. Wind howled past her ears, cut through by the sound of wings…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Do you understand?” Death asks. Her voice is grim, but not unkind. “If you do this, you will not die in a bed. You will die on a battlefield, in great pain. Is that what you truly want?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto meets Death’s eyes, like gazing into a starry night._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You know…” Makoto grins- audacious. Resolute. “...I always thought that was how it would go, someday. But if the alternative to dying violently someday is to die here, right now…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Makoto swallows hard. Nods._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’ll take that deal. I still have work to do.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“So be it,” Death murmurs, and lets her go._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I will wait for you at the end of the Sunless Road,” Death calls out, across the cosmos._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Forgive me for making you wait a little longer,” Makoto smiles, and dives into the light._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
The last stand at the Tokyo Diet was a battle of which legends were made.  
  
Brief, admittedly. Chaotic, undoubtedly. But, like all humanity, it blazed a memory bright enough to be remembered- a spirit to be honored, long after the flesh falters.  
  
See it now, and remember them. See a handful of heroes stand together against the inevitable.  
  
Erebus’ death tore a hole in Reality, through which legions of demons and a poisonous miasma came flooding through. The smothering smoke cloud blotted out the sky, blanketing the city of Tokyo in an unnatural night, and the bitter sounds of battle, of grief, of desperation, of suffering.  
  
But in that darkness, there was still light.  
  
There was love, and loyalty. There was courage, camaraderie, and a crimson flag held high.  
  
On that night, a light cut through the darkness. It parted the clouds, and shone on the faces of those brave few still standing.  
  
It was not the sun. The people of Tokyo would not see the sun for a long, long time.  
  
But in that darkness, there was still light.  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi saw the light bloom over Tokyo. An instant later, Makoto woke, gasping.  
  
Hifumi and Futaba were stunned beyond words. Futaba even spun the ring of data orbiting around her waist, wondering which of her obscure medical techniques could have done what she knew was impossible.  
  
Makoto pulled the two of them into a fierce hug. The wounds to her chest and collarbone, dressed and sealed thanks to Futaba, stung sharply in protest- but Makoto didn’t care.  
  
Kana, meanwhile, stared at Makoto in wonder, as a card with the Roman numeral X drifted and spun through her mind’s eye.    
  
Futaba turned, fixing Kana with her gaze. She could feel the connection between Kana and Makoto, even if she couldn’t explain it.  
  
“Kana,” Futaba said. “What did you do?”  
  
Kana blinked. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted.  
  
Makoto waved the thought away, and pulled her into her arms.  
  
Father Eli watched them, smiling to himself. He gazed out at the light piercing the clouds.  
  
“Providence,” he whispered, touching the cross at his throat.  
  
~*~  
  
However Mitsuru was expecting this battle to go, this certainly wasn’t it.  
  
A beam of golden light had shot out of the sky and carved a searing gouge into the street, immolating demons by the dozens. Then another beam shot down, and another, and another, each one exploding into a sphere of radiant fire and obliterating demons into ash and dust.  
  
The Tokyo Resistance huddled together, gazing out in fear and wonder as shots rained down from on high, pummeling the miasmal darkness like artillery made of pure light. After ten minutes of sustained bombardment, the demonic host scattered. They fled, vanishing into the smoke, the cloud of miasma retreating back towards the rift at Shibuya Crossing, chittering and squealing in pain, almost as if it were… alive.  
  
As the light faded, the group remained on guard, wondering at their sudden good fortune- or if it was good fortune at all. Kawakami was one of the few who broke the tense quiet.  
  
“Look at you,” she said, breathless, awe and pride in her voice.  
  
“Look at us?!” Ann and Ryuji laughed. “Look at you!”  
  
Kawakami smiled, sheepish. She ran a hand through her hair, the red flag of rebellion leaning against her shoulder.  
  
Mitsuru fidgeted, giddy with relief, but also well aware that nothing ever comes without a cost. She frowned, staring up at the dark, inscrutable sky. Her link chirped in her ear.  
  
_“Director Kirijo, what is your status?”_  
  
“Stand by, Fuuka,” Mitsuru murmured. She caught Yukari’s eyes across the way. Yukari shrugged.  
  
A light, brilliant and blinding, once again shot down from the heavens. They were not the lancing beams of the bombardment a few minutes earlier- they were like spotlights, shifting and shimmering until they coalesced into figures.  
  
The women bore spears, shields, and armor forming stylized wings at their shoulders and hips, their gleaming golden plate accented with crimson capes and tabards. The men bore ornate golden staves, garbed in brilliant red vestments.  
  
Every one of them had luminous white wings sprouting from their shoulders.  
  
And every one of them had their weapons drawn and leveled.  
  
Two more columns of light shone like spotlights down the street. Two more angels took shape and stepped out of the light- a man and a woman. The woman wore dark robes, accented in red and gold, and wore a crimson bird mask over her eyes. She wore a pair of curved swords slung low on her hips. The man was garbed in white and sky blue, and was the only member of the retinue to carry no weapon.  
  
He saw his troops holding the group at spearpoint, and his lips curled into a frown.  
  
“Shoulder arms,” he said softly. “All of you.”  
  
No one moved. He glanced to his companion, who crossed her arms.  
  
“Shoulder arms!” She barked, and the soldiers snapped to attention, spears and staves resting in the crooks of their shoulders. She turned back to the man and nodded.  
  
He stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting.  
  
“I bear a message from the Silver City,” he said, in a voice trained to carry. “Who speaks for humanity?”  
  
The group exchanged blank looks. Mitsuru fidgeted, uncomfortable with how many eyes she felt on her.  
  
“They need not speak, Remiel,” the woman said casually. “They need only listen, and obey.”  
  
Remiel frowned. He studied the crowd.  
  
“Is there no one…?” he asked.  
  
Mitsuru swallowed hard. She stepped forward.  
  
“Sir. My name is Mitsuru Kirijo.”  
  
“Well met, child of man,” Remiel said, bowing his head. “I am Remiel. I speak on behalf of the High Heavens.”  
  
Remiel spread his wings and opened his arms, addressing the crowd.  
  
“Hear me, children of man,” he intoned. “We have watched you undergo this calamity; this ordeal. You have done well to endure for as long as you have. Your actions are commendable. However, this infestation has grown beyond your ability to contain. For your own protection, this city and all its inhabitants, human, demon, or otherwise, are now under Heaven’s control.”  
  
There was an ugly murmur throughout the crowd. Mitsuru only closed her eyes and sighed. They were safe, for the moment.  
  
But everything has its price.  
  
“You will submit yourselves to the authority of the Four Archangels,” Remiel declared. “As of this moment, the city of Tokyo is under lockdown.”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The World is changing, and the end is nigh._
> 
> _Witness it, next time on **The Second Renaissance: Tokyo Resists**._


	10. Tokyo Resists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tokyo stands at the crossroads of history. 
> 
> In the wake of Erebus’ fall, a vast host of demons now claws its way up out of the hole in the world where Shibuya Crossing once stood. Like light through the clouds, the angel Remiel and his forces have descended to Earth to fight back the horde- leaving Tokyo caught in between.
> 
> There is always Chaos. There is always an Order to oppose it. And there is always a path between, for those with the eyes to see it-
> 
> But in blinding light, or the deepest shadow, nobody can see a thing. 
> 
> The World is changing. 
> 
> Let’s survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No matter how dark this city gets,_   
>  _There will be--_

_~*~_ _  
__  
_ On the second night of the Tokyo Blackout, a light pierced the darkened sky.  
  
A shaft of light, splitting the clouds open like a jeweled spear thrust into the sea, parted the moonless night. It buried itself in the pavement like a gargantuan arrowhead of polished ivory, a new, gleaming skyscraper built in the blink of an eye. It rose above the ruined streets of Shibuya like the bones of a dead god half-buried in the desert, picked clean and left to bake in the sun.  
  
Within its bone-white halls rose a cathedral unlike any on Earth. A vast atrium looked out over a gleaming floor of white marble. Dozens of balconies spiraled up the sides of the atrium. They just seemed to go on forever, floor after floor of balconies and tiered seating, rising up and vanishing into the infinite, impossible ceiling. Every surface in this place radiated light. Even the tile floor seemed to glow.  
  
Mitsuru stood at the base of the Argent Spire, a lone mortal among the divine. She stood in the center of the atrium, the ranks of rising balconies framing her as if in a spotlight.  
  
She stood, her dark uniform a drop of ink in a sea of radiant white. High above her, far higher than the reach of the Spire’s exterior walls, a golden-white light shone down, making every surface shimmer. Mitsuru stood, her head bowed, the brilliance above her too blinding to look upon.  
  
Women in golden plate and crimson capes stood arrayed around her. Though they appeared to be standing, they were actually floating just above the floor, never quite touching the ground. They stood straight, their gaze fixed forward. None of them would look Mitsuru in the eyes.  
  
“Let me be clear.”  
  
The voice boomed like a commandment down the echoing spire atrium. The angels surrounding Mitsuru snapped to attention.  
  
“Let me be clear, so there is no confusion,” the archangel Remiel said. While Mitsuru could not meet the eyes of her escorts, she couldn’t even see Remiel’s face; he was on a balcony high above her, speaking to the empty air, rendered a mere silhouette in the brilliant light behind him.  
  
“The Holy Knights can be heavy-handed,” Remiel said. “Indeed, the Holy Knights _will_ be heavy-handed. By my own admission, we are not an organization known for our subtlety or tact. This is unfortunate, as you and your comrades deserve better than the blunt, brutish ministrations of the Crusade.”  
  
Mitsuru’s lip quirked into a trace of a frown. She said nothing. She knew, deep down, that she wasn’t here to speak.  
  
“You have done well to endure this crisis, child of man,” Remiel continued. “But this situation is no longer your concern. The Holy Knights, under the command of the Four Archangels, shall concern themselves with the defense of this city. With the losses you have sustained, I imagine this news comes as something of a relief.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Mitsuru said, her expression blank.  
  
A soldier stepped out of her rank and presented Mitsuru with a scroll of parchment, in an embossed silver cylinder inlaid with gold leaf.  
  
“These are our terms.”  
  
Mitsuru reached out and accepted the scroll with numb fingers, her lips pressed into a line. Somewhere from the vast light above her, Remiel’s rang like thunder.  
  
“We intend for this transition of power to proceed as smoothly and as peacefully as possible,” Remiel declared. “We look forward to your cooperation.”  
  
~*~  
  
_Mitsuru remembers._ _  
__  
__Her team- her friends, atop the tower at the end of the world. All around them, the murky green nightmare of the Dark Hour. Above, the moon, opening up like the petals of a flower, unveiling the daemon within._ _  
__  
__A wave of power thunders across the sky. It smashes them down to their knees. Mitsuru gasps in pain, struggling to rise against the crushing weight. She lifts her head and gazes up at the sky._ _  
__  
__The harbinger gazes back- black wings, empty eyes, and a face as pale as death._ _  
__  
__“_ ** _Why resist that which is inevitable?_** _” The daemon asks. “_ ** _You will only suffer..._** _”_  
  
~*~  
  
Mitsuru took a deep breath and let it out through her nose.  
  
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Mitsuru stepped forward, and met Minato’s eyes.  
  
Fourteen years ago. Almost half her lifetime. Fourteen years bought by a brave teenager’s sacrifice. Fourteen years of trying to do right in a world that had been brought to the brink and yet managed to survive.  
  
Mitsuru didn’t envy Minato’s sacrifice. But she could appreciate its simplicity. To give your life, so that others may live- as grave a decision as that is, it’s straightforward enough. For those precious few who knew him, and who knew the truth of his death, that was how he would be remembered. A martyr. A hero.  
  
Mitsuru sighed, standing before Minato’s portrait and meeting his wistful gaze.  
  
Fourteen years of borrowed time, and now, once again, they stand on the brink.  
  
“Director?”  
  
Mitsuru closed her eyes, hugging her arms to her chest. She felt the weight of Minato’s eyes upon her, heavier even than the crushing might of Nyx’ aura upon her shoulders.  
  
This is the way the World ends. This is how Tokyo falls. Not with a bang, or a whimper. Not with the ringing of four mighty bells.  
  
With an ultimatum. With ink on a page.  
  
“I’ve prepared the broadcast, per your instructions,” came the voice beside her. She felt a hand on her arm. “Mitsuru?”  
  
Mitsuru turned and met Fuuka’s kind eyes. She let out a shuddering breath, clasping a hand over hers.  
  
“Do you trust me, Fuuka?” Mitsuru asked, her eyes distant, troubled.  
  
“Of course I do,” Fuuka said gently.  
  
“Even now?” Mitsuru whispered.  
  
“You’ve led us this far, and you have not led us astray,” Fuuka said with a quiet conviction, squeezing Mitsuru’s hand. “We survived Nyx together. And we’ll survive this, too.”  
  
~*~  
  
They gathered at the Bunker, tending to their wounded, counting their dead. Battered PSICOM strike teams mingled with Iwai’s mob of civilian militia and the tattered remnants of the JSDF. Soldiers made quiet conversation, made jokes that were too loud and fell too flat. Some sat by themselves, checking over their equipment with a distant, dazed look in their eyes. A few sat with their heads in their hands, spurning company, alone in their terror and grief.  
  
Callsign Rogue gathered together, along with Sojiro, Sanae, Kana, and Hifumi. Even this reunion was a muted one. Everyone was quietly astonished to be alive, and they huddled together, holding each other and murmuring dazed affirmations of love. Akira, Morgana, and Lavenza were all still missing, having apparently vanished after Erebus’ defeat. The former Phantom Thieves spoke quietly amongst themselves, wondering after absent friends and still processing their feelings about the angels’ intervention. The air thrummed with the disquiet of uncertainty.  
  
Agents Wen, Lam, and Caryn lingered on the edges of callsign Rogue’s co-opted conference room, keeping an eye on their guests.  
  
“She sold us out,” Wen muttered darkly.  
  
“She wouldn’t do that and you know it,” Caryn chided.  
  
“We just had our asses kicked by one army, and now another one’s shown up on our doorstep,” Wen growled. “You know how this goes. If you can’t beat ‘em…”  
  
“The Director knows what she’s doing,” Caryn snapped.  
  
“Yeah, and she’s the only one that does!” Wen fired back. “She goes to meet with those angels, alone, to ‘negotiate’, and none of us get any say in what happens!”  
  
“I trust the Director,” Lam offered quietly.  
  
“I do, too,” Caryn said, resolute. “She has a plan. You’ll see.”  
  
Wen bitterly shook his head.  
  
“She sold us out,” he growled.  
  
There was a telltale crackle of static above them. And then, a voice, clear as day:  
  
_“Attention, all units. Attention, all units. This is Mitsuru Kirijo, Director of PSICOM._ _  
__  
__“As you are all, no doubt, well aware, angels have descended upon Tokyo. They have come in response to an incursion- the Breach that has opened up at Shibuya Crossing, in the wake of Erebus’ demise, and the hostile forces- one might call them ‘demons’- that are spilling through._ _  
__  
__“I have met with the leaders of the angelic host, who call themselves the Holy Knights. They are willing to fight and contain the threat posed by the Breach. But this assistance will come at a price._ _  
__  
__“In less than 24 hours, Tokyo will be under quarantine. The Holy Knights will erect a barrier around the city, cutting Tokyo off from the outside world, and sealing the demons- and ourselves- inside._ _  
__  
__“Until the barrier is in place, angelic forces have blockaded traffic in and out of the city to ensure that no demon escapes. Once the barrier comes down, it cannot be breached. The Archangel Remiel has given us until sunset tomorrow to flee the quarantine zone. The choice is yours- whether to go, or to stay._ _  
__  
__“All Agents: effective immediately, all PSICOM operations are to be suspended. Some of you, I have known for over a decade. Some of you, I’ve known only briefly. But I want to thank all of you for being so brave and so strong. I will not let something so mundane as employment condemn any of you to being trapped inside the quarantine zone, possibly indefinitely. You are all free to do as you wish._ _  
__  
__“Tomorrow morning, my officers and I, on behalf of the Tokyo Bureau of Public Safety, shall formally cede control of Tokyo to the Archangel Remiel and the Holy Knights. After which, at sunset tomorrow, the barrier will come down, and the quarantine will take effect._ _  
__  
__“Until that time, the choice is yours. Exit the city, or remain behind. Consider this decision carefully. Make it for yourself. Not for me, or anyone else._ _  
__  
__“This is Director Kirijo, signing off.”_  
  
~*~  
  
Mitsuru handed Fuuka the microphone with trembling fingers. She met the eyes of her officers in turn- Yoshida. Fuuka. Aigis. Kikuno. Yukari.  
  
“Mitsuru-” Yukari began.  
  
Mitsuru took a deep breath and sighed. She turned on her heel, and strode out of the room.  
  
The restless quiet that had so enveloped the Bunker just a moment ago was boiling over into anxious, fearful muttering. Mitsuru strode down the corridor, her head held high, sparing a passing glance into the conference room that callsign Rogue had taken as their own.  
  
“The Director has a plan,” Mitsuru heard Caryn say, in passing.  
  
“She _sold us out_ ,” Wen snarled, flashing Mitsuru a venomous look.  
  
Mitsuru kept walking without saying a word, her eyes fixed forward. She became faintly aware of footsteps trailing behind her. She stepped inside her private quarters and slid the door shut behind her. Almost immediately, she heard a knock at the door.  
  
“Mitsuru?” Yukari called.  
  
“Leave me alone, Yukari,” Mitsuru murmured helplessly. She slumped, exhausted, against the door to her room, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair.  
  
Mitsuru sat there like a child, hugging her knees to her chest. Above her, the knocking continued.  
  
“Mitsuru, please.”  
  
Mitsuru sighed, weary beyond words.  
  
The door slid open behind her, then closed again. Mitsuru looked up. Yukari and Sae knelt down beside her, joining her on the carpet.  
  
Mitsuru met their eyes in turn, a maelstrom of emotions churning in her gut. She smiled ruefully, shaking her head.  
  
“I brought reinforcements,” Yukari said, managing a small smile.  
  
“Oh, you two…” Mitsuru sighed, resting her chin in her hands. “This is not how I wanted to have this conversation.”  
  
“Then we won’t,” Sae said simply. “Not now. Not here. Not yet. Sometime, after this is through, we can pick out a nice restaurant, put on our best clothes, and talk.”  
  
Sae met Yukari’s eyes. “All three of us,” Sae said warmly. Yukari nodded.  
  
“But not yet,” Yukari said. She had something in her arms- the silver cylinder, inlaid with gold. She twisted off the cap and pulled out the scroll bearing Remiel’s ultimatum, unfurling it on the floor. Beside her, Sae pulled out a notebook, and slipped a pair of reading glasses onto her nose.  
  
“This is not the way the world ends,” Sae said, squinting down at the parchment. “We still have work to do.”  
  
~*~  
  
Adrift between the worlds, Lavenza sat at her fortunetelling table, brooding, her chin resting in her gloved hands. The Velvet Room still lacked form- at the moment, it was little more than her table, two chairs, and a stretch of blue carpet that faded into nothing at the edges. The master of the Velvet Room was free to shape it in their own image- but this was not an elevator, rising to the top of the world, nor a prison, from which to break free.  
  
This, like its master, was adrift. Young. Lost.  
  
But not alone.  
  
“Are you okay?” Morgana asked, across the table. He met Lavenza’s eyes- brilliant blue and dazzling gold.  
  
Lavenza took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Nothing is certain,” she murmured.  
  
Lavenza bowed her head, pensive, shuffling her Tarot deck.  
  
The future stretched out before her, as formless and vast as the shifting darkness of the In-Between. She could read the cards, and pin down the path ahead- but she knew that the future was not hers to decide. She was only the messenger; the witness; the guide.  
  
The World was changing. The Wild Card was evolving.  
  
And somewhere out there, amid that dreadful uncertainty, history was being written...  
  
~*~  
  
There was a hole in the world where Shibuya Crossing once stood.  
  
It stood, like an open, unfilled grave, marking the site where Erebus fell. A massive crater, ringed by crumbling concrete and a weeping column of smoky miasma. Part of the wreckage consisted of the Shibuya Underground, caught in the explosion and left open to the sky. But further down, the fog grew thicker, and shone with a hellish red light…  
  
Another hole in the world opened up, this one appearing without the catastrophic violence that created the Breach. A shining outline of a door drew itself in the air-  
  
-and Akira stepped through, into the corpse of a city.  
  
A door can open to the Velvet Room from anywhere, but you always exit from where you entered. Lavenza pulled Akira into the In-Between rather than them getting caught in Erebus’ dying explosion. Here, now, Akira was seeing the extent of that devastation firsthand- the price of their victory over the Father of Death.  
  
An aura of blue fire flickered around his form, protecting Akira from the poisonous fume that the miasmal ground zero had become. However, the stench still got through- the stench of war, of death, of blood and shit and gasoline and sulphur misting in the air, the oppressive heat, the palpable taste of terror, of adrenaline, of dust and soot and ash.  
  
Something cut through the nauseating display- a tension, an edge. Akira felt the sudden, visceral sensation that he was being watched. Slowly, he slipped a gloved hand towards the holster in his coat, his other hand reaching for the knife at his belt.  
  
A shadow dove at him from a shattered windowsill, Akira catching a glimpse of black feathers and beady blue eyes. At the same time, a second shadow pounced at him from behind a pile of concrete rubble- a canine form with eyes that blazed with fire.  
  
It happened in an instant, and was over just as quickly.  
  
Akira fired two shots that shredded the crow’s wings, curling into the wolf’s attack and drawing his knife along the backs of its knees. Their crumpled forms crashed into the ruined street.  
  
Akira leveled his pistol at the fallen demons, ready to finish them- when he noticed something strange. A light, shimmering around his right wrist- a series of shining white squares, like a bracelet, or the links of a chain.  
  
An arcane sigil drew itself on the ground beneath the two defeated demons, bathing them in a similar white light. An instant later, they vanished, and a pair of cards, spinning lazily and trailing blue fire, appeared in the air. Akira sheathed his weapons, and let the cards drift down into his open hands.  
  
“Fenrir,” Akira read. “Badb Catha.”  
  
The cards disappeared into blooms of light, and two empty segments of Akira’s shining bracelet filled in with color.  
  
This was… different, Akira thought. This was new.  
  
But Akira didn’t have time to think. His tension- his edge- was still keening in the back of his mind. He felt the eyes on his back. He heard the snorting breath, felt the rush of air behind him. He leapt to the side, reaching for his weapons, as a pair of sledgehammer fists came crashing down-  
  
~*~  
  
Yoshida smacked the casing of his terminal. The screen, frozen in an eye-searing shade of green, resolved itself- only to reveal a cloud of static, an endless stream of nonsensical, garbage data, and the occasional flash of a grinning skull or ghostly face laughing from behind the screen. Yoshida took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Chief Yamagishi,” he began. “What are our losses?”  
  
“Casualty reports are still being compiled,” Fuuka reported, from her console beside him. “But it doesn’t look good. Phoenix and Hammer took heavy losses. The JSDF companies ceded to our use have been all but wiped out.”  
  
“Damn it all,” Yoshida muttered, shaking his head. “And the network?”  
  
“I managed to get pieces of it back online,” Fuuka shrugged weakly. “Who knows how long that’ll last. Whatever Larissa implanted in our system was no ordinary virus. I don’t know if I can purge it, or how long it will take if I can. We may have no choice but to rebuild it from the ground up. Just… scrap it and start over.”  
  
Yoshida nodded, thoughtful.  
  
“It’s not how you thought it would happen, is it?”  
  
Fuuka looked up. “Sir?”  
  
“All of this,” Yoshida said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “The end. You picture it in your head- maybe a glorious last stand, maybe a nice sunny place and a government pension. Dead or done. But not like this. It’s all just so… mundane.”  
  
“Angels are occupying the city and seizing control of our government in order to contain a demonic incursion,” Fuuka said, unable to bite back the bitterness in her voice. “I’d hardly call that ‘mundane’.”  
  
Yoshida just sighed and shook his head.  
  
“It’s politics,” he said. “Politics never changes.”  
  
Some distance away, all-but forgotten in the wake of Mitsuru’s announcement, the sorceress, Larissa, lay crumpled and broken on the floor of the command room. Kikuno leaned against the balcony rail, pensive, and watched as a pair of PSICOM orderlies hoisted Larissa’s body onto a stretcher. A man stood beside her, gently drawing a white sheet up and over Larissa’s face. A man, in a cloak and a dove-gray, three-piece suit, clutching an engraved cane in his hands.  
  
“What a waste,” Maxwell muttered, as the orderlies wheeled Larissa away.  
  
“Director Kirijo is glad you could make it, Doctor,” Kikuno said, “despite the… delay.”  
  
“And I get to arrive to this mess,” Maxwell grumbled. “An apprentice sabotaging PSICOM from the inside with obscure magics and a stolen cane. And, on the other hand, the Director, slaying daemons and negotiating with angels without any help from her arcane advisor. They grow up so fast.”  
  
Kikuno nodded, but said nothing. Maxwell regarded her with a curious eye.  
  
“Will you stay?” Maxwell asked.  
  
Kikuno took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“...I’ve known Mitsuru all my life,” Kikuno said quietly. “I grew up in Kirijo Manor, and we were raised as if sisters- the princess, and her shadow. And, like a shadow, wherever Mitsuru goes, I will follow close behind. Even, if she asks it of me, into Hell itself.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Maxwell chuckled ruefully. “That day may come sooner than you think.”  
  
Kikuno smiled- a slight, subtle thing.  
  
“Will you stay, Doctor?” she wondered.  
  
“Of course,” Maxwell shrugged. “I just got here, after all.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kikuno said. “About Larissa.”  
  
Maxwell heaved a sigh.  
  
“Stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Stupid girl. Foolish girl, playing with fire. Honestly, you spend all this time easing one’s way into the occult, only for your apprentice to run off and dive headlong into a two-bit organization like the Firepact… what a waste. Larissa could have been a master, I’m certain of it. Instead, she steals my cane, leaves me stranded on Odaiba, and uses dark magic to sabotage the network and bring PSICOM to its knees. A waste, that’s what it is. Like Merlin and Nimue.”  
  
“Larissa turned on us because she thought we were fighting a fight we couldn’t win,” Kikuno said. “She said you, and the Director, would rather die standing than live on your knees.”  
  
“As if it’s that simple,” Maxwell scoffed. “As if it’s ever that simple. As if those are the only two choices one can make...”  
  
Kikuno nodded sagely. She paused, and looked up, making a face.  
  
“Doctor. Didn’t Nimue… _seduce_ Merlin, before betraying him?”  
  
Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s not a _perfect_ analogy…”  
  
~*~  
  
Not too far away, Futaba and Kana sat, in a shadowed alcove, watching PSICOM staff go about their work in a muted, restless quiet.  
  
Every introvert has their sanctuary. Futaba’s room was an obvious one. Failing that, she was strangely fond of server rooms- cool, quiet, pleasantly geometric, and so lacking in the anxiety induced by people- loud, judgmental, unpredictable. The command room, with its banks of consoles and dim, electronic lights, served well enough.  
  
Futaba was, currently, clinging to Kana like her life depended on it- her arms tight around Kana’s waist, nuzzling her face into Kana’s shoulder blades like a cat. Kana sighed, content, leaning into Futaba’s touch, drinking in the intoxicating closeness.  
  
It had been a long day. Both of them were too exhausted for words- literally, in Futaba’s case, though by now, Kana was used to Futaba’s periods of going non-verbal.  
  
How much difference a day makes. 24 hours ago, Kana was sharing a cup of tea with Yusuke at Okumura Inn, wondering idly about when the city would get its power back, and the worst they had to worry about were vandals trampling Haru’s tomatoes. Since then, Kana had been escorted to a secret government base by a combat android, seen a friend get possessed by a demon, been held hostage, had watched a friend bleed out in Futaba’s arms, and then, somehow, come back to life…  
  
It had been a long day. An impossible day. But here she was. She was here, with Futaba, with all her closest friends, and they were all, somehow, still alive.  
  
Kana’s phone buzzed against her hip. She blinked, slipping it out. New text.  
  
**_Futaba_** _: You saved Makoto’s life._  
  
Kana glanced over her shoulder, briefly meeting Futaba’s eyes. She frowned, typing out her reply.  
  
**_Kana_** _: I don’t know what I did. Whatever it was, I think it might have been a one-time thing._  
**_Futaba_** _: maybe that’s for the best_ _  
_**_Futaba_** _: I don’t want you to get wrapped up in all this stuff_ _  
_**_Futaba_** _: I don’t want you to get hurt._ _  
_  
Kana took a deep breath and let it out slow. She snaked her fingers through Futaba’s, giving her hand a squeeze.  
  
“You know…” Kana said softly. “...my surprise visit to Tokyo isn’t going at all like I thought it would.”  
  
“You don’t have to stay,” Futaba murmured into the back of Kana’s neck. “You could leave, before the angels seal off the city for good. You could go home to Osaka, and leave all this danger behind.”  
  
“That’d mean leaving _you_ behind, too.”  
  
“I could leave,” Futaba insisted. “I could go with you.”  
  
Kana sighed. She gently untangled Futaba’s arms from around her waist, turning so she could look Futaba in the eyes.  
  
The Holy Knights gave them this one opportunity to escape the quarantine before it came down. They could leave, just the two of them, and go back to Osaka. Life would go on, even with Tokyo being sealed off and the whole world left to wonder why, even if it meant Futaba would never see her dad, or her brothers, or her friends again…  
  
“No, you couldn’t,” Kana said gently.  
  
“No,” Futaba sighed. She nodded, squeezing Kana’s hands. “I couldn’t, could I?”  
  
Futaba sniffled. Kana reached out and touched Futaba’s face, smoothing an errant tear away with the pad of her thumb.  
  
“We could stay,” Kana said. “Here, in Tokyo. The Agency needs to rebuild their network from the ground up. They could use a genius programmer.”  
  
Futaba smirked. “...Okay, well what am _I_ gonna do?”  
  
Kana rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”  
  
“Make me.”  
  
They kissed- shyly, and giggling all the while, since even after all this time the thought of being so openly affectionate still made them blush. They held each other, Kana tucking her chin over Futaba’s shoulder, Futaba clinging tight.  
  
“So you’re staying?” Futaba murmured into Kana’s throat.  
  
“Yeah,” Kana said, smiling. “I kinda like it here.”  
  
They sat there, together, in that hidden place- that halfway place that Kana had known for scarcely a day, of magic and monsters, of men in black. It was a place Kana was dragged into without any choice, or any warning- but now that she was here, she’d make the most of it. She wasn’t eager to charge into danger. But she wouldn’t run away.  
  
As she sat there, in Futaba’s warm embrace, something flickered in Kana’s mind’s eye. A card, marked with the Roman numeral X, wreathed in blue fire. And a woman, garbed in black and white, with a ruby brooch shining at her throat.  
  
It was the woman who’d guided Makoto back to the light- the one who’d met Kana halfway.  
  
Kana smiled at her, in gratitude.  
  
From the sea of her soul, Persephone smiled back.  
  
~*~  
  
In their co-opted conference room, the remnants of callsign Rogue were not smiling. Indeed, sprawled as they were on couches and armchairs, they scarcely had the energy to sit up straight, much less speak. It had been an oppressively long night. The founding of callsign Rogue, and their fateful ride off to battle against Erebus, had been barely six hours ago- and already, it felt like a lifetime.  
  
Yusuke returned from the kitchenette in the corner, handing Haru a paper cup of hot tea, which she received with a tired, but grateful, smile. Shiho, Ann, and Ryuji were sharing a couch. Shiho was nodding off on Ann’s shoulder, while Ryuji was hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, his pensive stare burning a hole in the carpet. Eventually, he broke the dreadful silence.  
  
“So we’re just gonna let them win?”  
  
He felt everyone’s eyes on him, and he heaved a sigh.  
  
“We’re just gonna let these angels come on in and take over?” Ryuji pressed.  
  
“What else can we do?” Yusuke murmured.  
  
“Yeah, Ryuji,” Ann said gently. “What, do you want to fight them?”  
  
“Well… no, but…”  
  
“We could leave,” Shiho offered sleepily. “We could take Remiel’s offer and get out of Tokyo before the quarantine takes effect.”  
  
“I don’t want to do that either,” Ryuji muttered. “I don’t want these angels to boss us around, but I don’t wanna run, either.”  
  
“What do you want, Ryu-kun?” Haru asked.  
  
Ryuji took a deep breath. He worked his jaw, staring down at the floor.  
  
“There is another thing to consider,” Yusuke spoke up. He took Haru’s hand and squeezed. “Admittedly, there are some of us here for whom this decision has already been made. But what about your families? What about your parents?”  
  
Shiho sat up with a gasp. “My parents! They’re still in Inaba... If I stay inside the quarantine, will I ever…”  
  
Shiho faltered, blinking, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn.  
  
“B-But… I could never leave you all behind…” Shiho said, sinking back into her seat. “...and the hospital… Kaede and Hiro, they- they need me. I have to stay.”  
  
“Ann?” Yusuke asked.  
  
Ann sighed, crossing her arms. “...Y’know, I don’t even remember the last time I saw my parents in person? They’ve been abroad, doing, I don’t know, fashion stuff. They call, but I don’t know… it just feels like more and more of an afterthought.”  
  
Ann shook her head. She draped her arms around Ryuji and Shiho’s necks, pulling them close.  
  
“I stand by what I said, all those years ago,” Ann grinned. “My family’s right here.”  
  
Shiho cooed and nuzzled into Ann’s cheek, while Ryuji affectionately bonked his head against Ann’s shoulder. Haru leaned forward, watching them and beaming all the while.  
  
“How about you, Ryuji?” she asked.  
  
Ryuji paused, thoughtful. “...I mean, I guess I lucked out. My ma’s here. Sojiro’s here. Kana and ‘Taba…”  
  
There was a sudden, uncomfortable silence. Haru sat up sharply, an apology in her eyes. Ryuji felt the flare of his temper, fueled by anxiety. He felt it catch in his chest as he forced it down. He felt Shiho’s worried eyes on him, felt Ann’s hand on his knee. Ryuji breathed deep, and heaved the swell of anger out in a sigh.  
  
“...It sure is rude of him to keep us waiting,” Ryuji muttered, aiming for levity. It didn’t catch.  
  
“Futaba is in the command room,” Yusuke said. “If you like, I can ask her to try scanning for him.”  
  
Ryuji waved the thought away. “It’s Kana time. Let’s not bug her.”  
  
“‘Bug’ her, hm?” Haru murmured. She put a hand over her mouth, giggling at her own joke.  
  
“I wish Akira was here,” Ryuji sighed. “He’d have a plan we could follow. I’d follow him, no matter what he chose. But now, I’m worried. I’m worried he’s gone somewhere I can’t follow.”  
  
Ann’s hand clapped down onto Ryuji’s shoulder, and she turned him to face her, her gaze filled with a strange intensity.  
  
“Ryuji,” Ann said firmly. “Akira’s alive. He has to be.”  
  
Ann’s eyes were fierce and oh-so-distracting. Ryuji couldn’t help but blush- and then her words caught up to his brain, and he blinked, stammering.  
  
“Wait, what? Oh! I know that. Shit, Ann, I meant he was like, in the Velvet Room or something.”  
  
“Oh.” Ann blinked, embarrassed. She punched Ryuji in the arm. “Well why didn’t you just _say_ that, you moron?”  
  
Ryuji socked her back, grinning and laughing in relief, the gloom and tension draining out through his smile.  
  
“Akira can handle himself,” Ryuji said. He grinned. “I bet he’s fine. But, y’know, if he’s still in that crater doing that thing where he stands around and spaces out, who knows how long _that’ll_ last?”  
  
~*~  
  
The World is changing.  
  
But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Even Akira, who’d much sooner call himself a cafe owner rather than a demon hunter, still fought with flair- even when he could feel the palpable absence of his Personae, like a hole cut in the world.  
  
Some things, like four years of middle school gymnastics, you never forget. And some things never change.  
  
Akira darted around a sledgehammer blow, two huge fists crashing down into the pavement beside him. He raised his pistol, braced on the wrist of his extended knife arm, and fired.  
  
His opponent was a huge, bare-chested, muscled brute, seemingly caught partway through transforming into a bull. His hunchbacked form gave him the looming silhouette, head, and shoulders of a bull, but the bull’s snout transitioned eerily into a wicked, grinning human skull. Similarly, the brute’s seemingly human legs transitioned into ending in bovine hooves.  
  
He stood there, drinking in Akira’s gunfire, each shot spanking off his muscled chest with a clatter of sparks.  
  
Akira knew there was magic involved. Still, he couldn’t help but be just a little intimidated. After all, this was an opponent who could seemingly deflect gunfire off his rock-hard abs.  
  
The brute snorted, like a bull about to charge. Sure enough, he came running, bellowing an unsettlingly human war cry.  
  
Akira leapt into a roll and came up just as the brute charged past, rising into a crouch and slicing open the brute’s leg from behind. The brute faltered, and fell to one knee. Akira seized the moment, darting in and tearing out the brute’s other hamstring with a second, drawing slash. The brute wheezed in pain, kneeling in the rubble.  
  
Akira threw himself into the air with all the grace of a cat, planting his heels in the brute’s shoulders. His gloved hand closed around the brute’s jaw and yanked upward, like he was ripping off a mask. His dagger plunged down into the brute’s exposed throat.  
  
A geyser of dark, inhuman blood exploded out of the ghastly wound. The beast squealed in pain, bucking its shoulders in an attempt to throw Akira off. Undeterred, Akira braced himself atop the brute, a hand clamped around one of its horns, yanked his dagger out, and stabbed again.  
  
A massive fist closed around Akira’s ankle and hurled him across the street. He reoriented himself in the air, landing on his feet with practiced grace. He lifted his head out of his crouch and then immediately ducked again, flinching away from his own dagger, ripped out of the brute’s neck and flung contemptuously at Akira’s head. It bounced off a pile of concrete rubble and skittered down the street.  
  
As Akira reached for his fallen knife, he saw the chain of white light, like a bracelet, orbiting around his wrist. Just like before, a similar white light drew itself on the ground beneath the brute’s feet. He dissolved in a flash of bluish-white fire- and then there was a card, drifting lazily through the air, disappearing in a bloom of light against Akira’s fingertips. An empty segment on his bracelet began to shine, filling with color.  
  
Akira heard the beating of wings, the clatter of armor. He took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Stop right there.”  
  
Akira turned. There were two women behind him- two angels, with white wings that shone as if they were made of pure light. Their armor gleamed gold, even in the dark. They bore spears and broad, leaf-shaped shields with circular notches cut in the sides- meant for bracing the weight of the spear to compensate for wielding it one-handed, the notch also allowing for an overlapping shield wall with spears extended through the gaps. The edges of their armor, at their hips and their shoulders, curled upwards in the image of stylized wings.  
  
Most striking, Akira thought, were their eyes. Regal, authoritative, but still so human- not the empty, hollow sockets of inky darkness that marked Mastema’s red-armored thralls.  
  
“This area is under quarantine,” said one of the knights. “Let’s see your hands.”  
  
Akira took a moment, considering. The brute he’d just fought was huge, and strong, but also dumb, and relatively slow. These angels were smarter, armored, outranged him with their spears, and had shields to stop pistol rounds and make closing in with his knife a nightmare.  
  
Akira didn’t like his chances. He obligingly raised his hands above his head.  
  
Then Fenrir and Badb Catha appeared beside him in a flash of white light.  
  
Akira blinked, startled, eyes darting between the conjured demons and the shining bracelet around his wrist.  
  
“Summoner!” one of the knights hissed in contempt. She and her partner braced their spears on the notches of their shields, the blades splitting and pulling back to reveal a barrel built into the spear haft. Bright golden energy began to gather between the forked blades.  
  
“Wait!” Akira cried. “No, no, wait!”  
  
The knights fired. Fenrir and Badb Catha both vanished, engulfed in beams of searing golden light. Charred feathers and tufts of smouldering fur drifted through the air like ash.  
  
The two knights adjusted their aim, leveling their spears at Akira. Akira grimaced, fingers creeping toward his holster.  
  
A wave of darkness shot across the ground. It shot upwards, snaking around the knights and binding them in tendrils of living shadow. There was a sickening crunch, and the women disappeared- vanishing into the pool of darkness swimming across the ground.  
  
Akira had his pistol drawn and aimed in an instant.  
  
“Well now,” Mastema said, as the wave of darkness receded into his cloak. “Is that any way to say hello?”  
  
~*~  
  
Sojiro exhaled, anxiety thrumming in his veins. He leaned back against the wall and fished around in his pockets for a cigarette. He raised one to his lips, and was about to rummage for his lighter, when he saw a “No Smoking” sign across the room. He glowered, sighing.  
  
There was a click next to him. Sanae appeared beside him, a lighter in her hands.  
  
“Who’s gonna stop you, huh?” she asked.  
  
Sojiro grinned, and lit his cigarette. He took a draw, and breathed the smoke out through his nose.  
  
“...I should probably give up these damn things,” Sojiro muttered.  
  
“For what? Chewing gum?”  
  
“Sunflower seeds, maybe.”  
  
Sojiro took another draw, and blew the plume of smoke up between his teeth. Sanae watched it wisp lazily through the air.  
  
“The Director’s gonna have her meeting soon,” Sanae said. “We should probably make ourselves scarce.”  
  
“Hmph,” Sojiro grunted. “Handing her Agency over to the angels… y’know, there was a time I would’ve looked at this and thought, y’know what? She’s got this coming.”  
  
“You’ve been grumbling about that ever since we got here,” Sanae said. “Are you ever gonna fill me in?”  
  
“It’s in the past,” Sojiro said. “Ancient history.”  
  
“Your hairline’s ancient history,” Sanae said. “This is still buggin’ ya. So c’mon, spill it.”  
  
“Alright, alright…”  
  
Sojiro sighed, shaking his head.  
  
“...This was, I don’t know, twenty years ago? This was before the cafe. Before PSICOM, come to think of it. The Kirijo Group was being run by Takeharu Kirijo, the current Director’s dad. He came to the lab with a bunch of muscle in nice suits. Told Wakaba and I to shut it down. That the Kirijo Group would take things from there. He thought he could take over, just like that.”  
  
“And you told him to stuff it, right?” Sanae asked.  
  
“Wakaba did,” Sojiro grinned. “Told him right where he could stick his offer and booted him out of the lab. Looking back on it, he was technically doing everything right. The proper, legal way. Kirijo could seize our research as long as we were properly compensated- and he did basically give us a blank check. But Wakaba still sent him packing. And it still left a sour taste in my mouth.”  
  
Sojiro sighed and shook his head.  
  
“That was our work. Wakaba put years and years into that project, and she wasn’t about to give it up for something so mundane as money. You can’t put a price on someone’s work like that.”  
  
Sanae nodded. “So, why are you easing up on her now? You finally thought it was unfair to hold a grudge on a girl for something her dad did?”  
  
“Well, sure,” Sojiro shrugged. “But it’s more about what _she’s_ done. Mitsuru Kirijo fought off an honest-to-god kaiju in the middle of Shibuya Crossing. She led my kids- our kids- into combat against a monster- and she brought them home. I have to respect her for that. Now, she’s been forced into ‘negotiating’ with these angels who, just like her dad, years and years ago, think they can walk right in and take over without any fuss. In a couple of hours, Director Kirijo will have to sign her Agency- her life’s work- to a bunch of suits who think they can do better, and they won’t even pay her a single damn yen. That’s a raw deal if I ever saw one. And after everything she’s done to protect this city? That’s a shame. That’s a damn shame.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Twice, now,” Tae muttered, flicking through pages on a clipboard. She narrowed her eyes above her chart, studying her patient. “Twice, in as many days, you’ve come back from the brink of death, or beyond, with nothing at all, medically, to show for it. Not even a scar.”  
  
“Sorry,” Makoto murmured, sheepish.  
  
“What you _do_ have,” Tae continued, “is this.”  
  
She handed Makoto a hand mirror. Makoto held it up, frowning at the mark branded on her cheek- the sharp outline of an ankh, falling from her eye like a teardrop. The mark of Death, and of the deal she struck on the Sunless Road.  
  
“If I ever wind up cheating death,” Tae purred, “I hope I get some ink like that, too. You kids and your magic, running wild over the medical sciences. You have the potential to be the single most fascinating case study I’ve ever undertaken- Makoto Niijima, the girl who cheated death, twice, and looked good doing it.”  
  
“Thank you?” Makoto ventured.  
  
“Don’t thank me yet,” Tae grinned dangerously. “The secret to a medical miracle is somewhere in that body of yours. If I had the time, the proper facilities, the proper tools… if I had all that, I would have _loved_ to dissect you.”  
  
Makoto squirmed. She made a face.  
  
“Are you, um… are you flirting with me?”  
  
Tae rolled her eyes.  
  
“That’s just my naturally seductive voice, kiddo. Now go on, shoo. Your girlfriend’s waiting.”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi lingered in the Bunker atrium, pacing across the vast roundel bearing the PSICOM seal- an eye, with a pupil in the shape of a keyhole. She could hear the muted conversation coming from inside a nearby conference room- Makoto’s friends, no doubt. She vaguely considered joining them. She’d known Yusuke back in high school, but they were never close. There was a regrettable lack of overlap between her circle and theirs. Only Makoto, Kana, Futaba… and Akira.  
  
Hifumi sighed. She leaned back against the balcony rail, one arm crossed over her chest, the other raised so she could nibble anxiously at a fingernail.  
  
Tokyo was safe, for the time being. But what was the cost? Akira, missing. Callsign Rogue, exhausted. Tokyo’s defenders, devastated.  
  
The board is set. But the pieces don’t move.  
  
A stalemate. After all this…  
  
“Fumi?”  
  
Hifumi jumped out of her skin, so startled she bit down hard on her fingertip and pulled her hand away with a squeal of pain. She curled her aching finger into the fabric of her coat, surprise making way for indignation. Hifumi sighed.  
  
“Hey, Mako,” she murmured.  
  
“Sorry,” Makoto said, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to scare you. And, uh, I’ve always said it’s a bad habit, biting your nails.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Hifumi said. “What did the doctor say?”  
  
“She’s baffled that I can come away from a near-death experience with just a tattoo,” Makoto shrugged. “Whatever happened, it’s not something medical science can explain, which I can’t imagine sits well with her. But on the other hand, look at this.”  
  
Makoto reached out and unselfconsciously brushed a lock of hair out of Hifumi’s face, revealing the mark on her cheek- the remnants of daemonic sigil branded in Hifumi’s skin by Mastema’s glyph, and the scar where Makoto had burned away the sigil, along with Jezebel’s toxic influence. The pale scar tissue glinted silver in the light. It formed the shape of a starburst on Hifumi’s cheek, like the petals of a flower blooming just beneath her skin.  
  
Hifumi’s breath hitched at Makoto’s touch, her eyes, her voice, so warm, so close…  
  
“Now we match,” Makoto said gently, her fingers lingering on Hifumi’s cheek. Their eyes met- sea green and wine red.  
  
Hifumi shuddered, her gaze drawn away from Makoto’s eyes by the dark outline of the ankh on her cheek. She swallowed hard, and pulled away.  
  
“Makoto,” Hifumi whispered, her eyes wet. “I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
“Shh,” Makoto cooed, brushing her thumb across Hifumi’s cheek. “Don’t be. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m right here.”  
  
Hifumi nodded weakly. Makoto turned, tipping her head towards the conference room.  
  
“Come on,” Makoto said gently. “They’re waiting for us.”  
  
“What?” Hifumi looked up sharply. “No no no, I- I can’t. Mako, after what I did to you-”  
  
“It wasn’t you,” Makoto said, adamant. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“Mako, I can’t. You go. They need you. I’ll stay-”  
  
“Hifumi,” Makoto met her eyes. “You’re one of us. I won’t leave you. Not now. ...Not ever.”  
  
The intensity of Makoto’s gaze, the conviction in her eyes… the sight of it made Hifumi’s heart race. She took a deep breath, stilling the fear and… whatever else it was hammering in her chest. Makoto offered her hand.  
  
There is a term. It originated in chess, but it has since spread across other games.  
  
Zugzwang. German. Literally, “compulsion to move”. It refers to a situation in which a player would prefer to pass, but cannot; a situation in which any possible move would place them at a disadvantage.  
  
This isn’t a stalemate, after all. The game isn’t over. But if the choice comes between a stalemate now, or an uncertain future...  
  
Hifumi took a deep breath. She took Makoto’s hand, and stepped through the door.  
  
The board is set.  
  
The pieces _must_ move...  
  
~*~  
  
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Akira said, his pistol aimed square between Mastema’s eyes.  
  
“Please,” Mastema sniffed contemptuously. “We have been over this before. Shoot me, or don’t. Either way, the LORD will remake me as many times as He sees fit.”  
  
“You mean the same Lord who seems pretty keen on keeping all these demons under control? Demons who only started pouring through in droves after you massacred your own cult to summon Erebus?” Akira spat. “What, does your God have mood swings or something? Who are you _really_ working for?”  
  
Mastema snickered. A snicker became a snort. That snort became full-blown, shaking, manic laughter, Mastema clutching his ruined robe, tattered robe to his chest, treacly black blood oozing through the fabric.  
  
“You know nothing! _Nothing!_ ” Mastema cackled. “Ignorance truly is bliss! You’ve no idea, not a single inkling of the powers arrayed against you! Angels, demons… your pathetic little Fortuneteller has kept you sheltered in this bubble of stupidity while the rest of the World cascades around you! He and his servants have given their all to buy you time. Time! What difference does time make in the face of gods?! We are divine! Your lifetimes pass between single beats of our hearts! Fight us back, fend us off for now, and one day, one year, one millennium from now, we will still be here! We will endure, and you! You will be _nothing!!!_ ”  
  
Mastema stopped short. He looked down at the hole in his chest, spurting blood.  
  
“Looks like nothing can kill you,” Akira growled. “Right now, it’s two for two.”  
  
Another hole exploded out of Mastema’s chest in a burst of gore. A second round gouged out his ribs. A third, tore off a wing. Black feathers drifted down, joining the puddle of blood and tar at Mastema’s feet.  
  
“Shiho Suzui,” Akira declared. His shot exploded Mastema’s left kneecap and forced him down.  
  
“Hifumi Togo,” Akira said, his jaw tight. He fired again, blowing open Mastema’s thigh and forcing him to his knees.  
  
“Remember their names,” Akira snarled. “Remember who _survived_ you.”  
  
Mastema laughed- a horrid gurgle that ended in black blood cascading past his pale, gray lips.  
  
“Foolish boy,” Mastema gasped, grinning. “This changes nothing. Have you heard nothing I’ve said? Kill me now… and I will be remade. So go ahead. Take your shot, boy. Make your move…”  
  
Mastema blinked. There was an arcane sigil beneath him- a ring of shining white light.  
  
Mastema stared, wide-eyed as Akira lowered his pistol. A ring of white light orbited around his wrist, like a bracelet, or a chain…  
  
“ ** _No…!_** ” Mastema hissed in furious disbelief.  
  
“Checkmate,” Akira said, in a voice cold as ice, as Mastema’s form vanished into bluish-white flame.  
  
~*~  
  
The Archangel Remiel stood, his hands clasped behind his back, a resplendent vision of divinity in white robes, edged in gold, with a sash in sky blue. Beside him stood his partner, like a photo negative- golden armor, dulled so as not to catch the light, her black robe edged in crimson, a pair of scimitars slung low over her hips. Flanking them, their escorts- golden-armored Valkyries in crimson capes and tabards.  
  
“I don’t know why this had to wait until morning,” Remiel’s companion muttered, her face hidden by a mask and veil.  
  
“They are mortals, Isra,” Remiel said gently. “They have been fighting these demons for quite some time. Fatigue is an issue.”  
  
Israfel sniffed. “‘The spirit is willing…’”  
  
“‘...But the flesh is weak’,” Remiel finished, smiling.  
  
“One thing,” David Wen said from the corner of the elevator. “This weak, fleshy mortal can _hear_ you.”  
  
“Of course, of course. Our apologies,” Remiel said. He gave Agent Wen a patronizing smile.  
  
Israfel studied their interior, her mask and veil unable to hide her intrigue. She turned to Agent Wen.  
  
“Child of man. What do you call this device?”  
  
“An elevator,” Wen said.  
  
“Curious,” Israfel muttered.  
  
“It’s handy when not everyone’s born with wings,” Wen explained.  
  
Israfel nodded to herself. Remiel shot her a look, and she straightened up.  
  
“...I still don’t see why we couldn’t have gotten this over with last night,” she muttered.  
  
“Patience, Isra,” Remiel chided. “This will all be over soon…”  
  
~*~  
  
Mitsuru stood at the head of the conference table, the scroll bearing Remiel’s ultimatum clutched to her chest in its polished case. Her officers stood, arrayed before her- for the last time.  
  
“Are you certain you don’t want me to do the talking?” Yoshida asked, the trace of a smile on his face. “I’ve been told I’m, ah, quite good at it.”  
  
“No, thank you,” Mitsuru said. “This is something I have to do myself.”  
  
Yoshida nodded. He stepped back into the row of Mitsuru’s commanders and confidants- Fuuka, Kikuno, Yukari, Maxwell. Even Aigis and Labrys, who should have submitted themselves for repairs hours ago, but were standing here, now, to see it through to the end.  
  
Kikuno took a deep breath. She clicked her heels together and snapped off a salute- one that echoed down the line.  
  
“Director Kirijo,” Kikuno said, her voice wavering. “It has been an honor to serve you.”  
  
“No, Kiku,” Mitsuru murmured. “The honor has been mine.”  
  
Mitsuru clicked her heels together and returned the salute. Kikuno led the officers as they filed out the door, Mitsuru catching first her eyes, then Fuuka’s, as they left.  
  
Yukari lingered after the others stepped out. She marched up to Mitsuru, holding her gaze. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.  
  
Yukari took a deep breath and sighed. She turned, flashing a smile.  
  
“Take care of her,” Yukari said.  
  
“I will,” Sae nodded. “I promise.”  
  
“Come back to us,” Mitsuru said gently.  
  
“I will,” Yukari nodded. “I promise.”  
  
Yukari gave them her best, brightest smile, before retreating out the door.  
  
Mitsuru’s link chirped.  
  
_“Director. Your guests have arrived.”_  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Wen. Send them in.”  
  
Mitsuru set Remiel’s scroll down on the conference table, before reaching out and taking Sae’s hand. Gently, without any fuss, Sae laced their fingers together. Sae clutched the sheaf of papers she was holding tighter to her chest. Mitsuru gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.  
  
Remiel and Israfel strode inside, their bearing regal and commanding.  
  
“Archangels Remiel and Israfel of the Holy Knights,” Mitsuru began. “I am Director Mitsuru Kirijo of PSICOM, representing the Tokyo Bureau of Public Safety. This is my legal counsel, Counselor Sae Niijima.”  
  
“Well met, children of man,” Remiel nodded. “Let us begin.”  
  
~*~  
  
Akira trudged his way out through the ruined streets of Shibuya, staying in cover as much as possible, and avoiding as many fights as he could. In the dark, the narrow streets seemed sinister and unfriendly. Navigating the city at night, during a blackout, would have been difficult enough- but Erebus’ dying explosion had filled the street with rubble that had to be climbed over or skirted around, and the force of the blast had scoured walls and street signs until every block was all but unrecognizable.  
  
Akira heaved a sigh, trudging along. He was bone-tired, and the lack of landmarks made it difficult to get his bearings.  
  
That was when he saw it- a white light, like a butterfly, flitting through the air.  
  
Part of Akira thought it had to be a trick. It couldn’t have been real. The Velvet Room’s harbinger, the messenger of fate… he hadn’t seen a shining white butterfly ever since the ringing of the bells two days ago.  
  
But there it was. A white butterfly, shining like a star in the moonless night. It was there. It was faint, and a little unsteady, but it was there.  
  
_There is always a guide._  
  
Akira sighed in relief. He broke out into a wide, proud grin.  
  
“Thanks, Lavenza,” he whispered. “You’re doing great.”  
  
Akira followed the white butterfly through the dark, picking his way through the shattered city streets. As the debris grew thinner and the surrounding buildings grew more intact, Akira realized with a start that he _knew_ where he was.  
  
The white butterfly flew out of sight, and Akira flew down the alley, past the corner store, the thift shop, around the corner-  
  
And there it was, glowing like a hearth at the end of the street.  
  
Akira opened the door, hearing the familiar chime of the bells over his head.  
  
Makoto looked up from the booth by the stairs. Ann, Shiho, Kana, and Hifumi were arrayed around her, studying a map of Tokyo that Makoto had spread across the table. Yusuke and Haru were sitting at the bar, while the unmistakable shock of Ryuji’s bleach-blonde hair rummaged beneath the counter. And Futaba-  
  
Akira grunted as Futaba dove into his arms and smacked her forehead into his sternum. She pulled back and looked up at him with her trademark, impish grin.  
  
“You’re back,” Futaba sighed, smoothing her cheek against Akira’s chest.  
  
“I’m home,” Akira breathed, laying a hand in Futaba’s hair.  
  
“You’re _late_ ,” Ann called out, grinning.  
  
“What is all this?” Akira asked.  
  
“We decided to call a Thieves meeting,” Makoto said, her lips curling into a fond smile. “If we’re all going to be in this for the long haul, then we need a plan.”  
  
“We decided to come here, for old times’ sake,” Haru chirped.  
  
“And what do you know?” Ryuji opened his arms wide, gesturing to the lights of the cafe- one of the last lights shining amidst the Tokyo Blackout. “We’ve got power.”  
  
“Yeah,” Akira grinned, meeting the eyes of his team. “You’re damn right we do.”  
  
~*~  
  
Mitsuru’s negotiations with Remiel were remarkably one-sided. Remiel did enough talking for everyone in the room, extolling the virtues of companionship and cooperation with a painted-on smile and a pretty speech that ultimately meant nothing. No matter how Remiel dressed it up, the end result was the same- the Holy Knights would have control of PSICOM, and through it, control of Tokyo, while everyone in Tokyo would have no choice but to be thankful for such gracious stewardship.  
  
Mitsuru and Sae, for their part, simply weathered being talked at. And when it came time to conclude negotiations, Mitsuru accepted a quill pen and signed Remiel’s parchment scroll, while Sae offered her contract, and Remiel did the same.  
  
“Now, then,” Remiel said, grinning broadly, “unless you have any questions-”  
  
“I do, sir,” Sae spoke up.  
  
Remiel faltered, unused to being interrupted. “Go on, then, child of man.”  
  
Sae nodded. “How long do you intend for your forces to remain in this city?”  
  
“As long as they are needed, of course,” Remiel said. “As long as the Breach remains a threat.”  
  
“And do you have a means of sealing the Breach?” Sae asked.  
  
“...A solution is being devised,” Remiel said. “Will that be all?”  
  
Sae exhaled, but said nothing. Mitsuru stood up.  
  
“That will be all, sir,” Mitsuru said. “I hereby entrust you with the command of this Agency, and the defense of this city from demonic threat. Congratulations, Lord Remiel. As of this moment, PSICOM is yours.”  
  
~*~  
  
In Leblanc, Makoto was doing what she did best: putting together a plan. Her voice rang with authority, with conviction, and when her eyes caught Akira’s across the way, Akira’s heart swelled with pride.  
  
Akira didn’t harbor any dramatic ambitions of ‘saving the world’- but if anyone could do it, it was this team. Of that, he had no doubt.  
  
Akira felt Ryuji behind him, leaning over the counter. Akira leaned back against the bar, catching Ryuji’s eyes.  
  
“Hey,” Akira muttered. “How did you know I’d get out of that crater and find you guys here?”  
  
“I dunno,” Ryuji grinned. “Just a feeling.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Futaba scanned for me.”  
  
“Yeah, Futaba scanned for you.”  
  
“People talking about me,” Futaba announced, burrowing her way up into the crook of Akira’s arm. Akira smiled. He placed his hand, palm down, just above Futaba’s head. She leaned up into the touch.  
  
“Hey, bug,” Akira murmured. He nodded towards Kana. “How’s player two?”  
  
“She’s good,” Futaba said lightly. “She’ll be staying in Tokyo for awhile. She brought Makoto back from the dead.”  
  
“She _what?!_ ”  
  
Futaba shrugged. “Long story.”  
  
Akira groaned. “...But Makoto’s _fine_ now, right?”  
  
“Of course she is, just look at her,” Ryuji grinned. Across the way, Makoto was scribbling furiously on the map of Tokyo, briefing the crowd around her like she was born to do it.  
  
“Are _you_ fine, though?” Futaba continued. “I had a feeling before, but now… you don’t have your Personae, do you?”  
  
“What?” Ryuji hissed. “You don’t have _any_ of them? Since when?”  
  
“Shh,” Akira said softly. “It’s okay. I don’t need them.”  
  
“You don’t need them?” Ryuji sounded dubious.  
  
Akira felt the bracelet shimmer just beneath the skin of his wrist. In his mind’s eye, two cards shone there- Minotaur, and Mastema.  
  
A single ace can tip the scales. But only a strong hand wins the game.  
  
“I don’t need them,” Akira echoed. “I have you.”  
  
“Gay,” Ryuji grinned. Akira pecked him on the cheek.  
  
Futaba rolled her eyes. “I swear, if you say ‘my friends are my power’...”  
  
“The Breach is the primary incursion point,” Makoto was saying, stabbing a finger into Shibuya Crossing on the map below her. “The angels came here to take care of it, so I say we let them. The angels’ HQ, the Argent Spire, is right here… so Leblanc will also work, as a field HQ close to the front.”  
  
“It’s kinda cramped here, though, isn’t it?” Ann asked. “We need more space…”  
  
“We can use the inn!” Haru chimed in. “It’s not too big, but it’s much bigger than the cafe, and it’s far enough away from any of the secondary incursion points-”  
  
“That’s another thing,” Makoto nodded. “The angels have the Breach. That means we have to take the subways. Shinjuku, Ginza, Ueno… the other subway stations are still overrun with demons. They need to be retaken. They need to be secured, and fortified.”  
  
“That’s a tall order for just the ten of us,” Hifumi murmured.  
  
“But we’re Gifted!” Shiho smiled. “Each one of us fights like ten men!”  
  
“Yeah, but Shiho, that’s still only, like, a hundred guys,” Ryuji said. “You’ve seen those demons outside. We’re still stupidly outnumbered.”  
  
Shiho shrugged, smiling, ever the optimist. “Well... how many more do we need?”  
  
~*~  
  
The Archangels’ escort of Valkyries burst back into the conference room. They snapped to attention, their spears and shields clattering against their armor.  
  
“Lord Remiel,” one of the women stepped forward, bowing her head. “Lady Israfel. We have searched the facility, as you instructed. This place, sers… it’s empty.”  
  
Remiel’s lip quirked in something almost, but not quite, a frown. He turned to Mitsuru, his jaw tight, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  
  
“Child of man. Where are your, ah… associates? I was expecting they would be here, to formally submit to the authority of the Four Archangels.”  
  
“As I have said, Lord Remiel, PSICOM is yours,” Mitsuru said, her voice perfectly even. “This facility and its materiel are yours to use as you see fit. You are free to command all PSICOM personnel… which, as of a moment ago, consisted of myself, Director Kirijo, and no one else.”  
  
A flicker of… something flashed across Remiel’s face.  
  
“...This is not what we agreed.”  
  
“This is exactly what we agreed,” Mitsuru said calmly. “This is exactly what I have agreed to, according to your scroll, and according to the contract Counselor Niijima has so graciously provided for me. The pact between us is sealed, according to your laws, and ours.”  
  
“Your laws?” Remiel balked. “Your _laws_? The laws of _mortals_ -”  
  
“-will be respected,” Sae cut in. “You are in our sovereign territory. You are here under our hospitality. Come as guests, and we will treat you as guests. Come as allies, and you will have our full cooperation. But if you come as conquerors, you will find you’ll receive all the welcome you deserve.”  
  
“When we first spoke,” Mitsuru continued, “you asked for someone to speak on behalf of all humanity. Well, here I am. We will not spurn a potential ally when there is a chance we can fight together against a common enemy. But we will not surrender our autonomy to you solely on the threat of martial law. We will not be your proxy state, and I will not be your puppet queen.”  
  
Mitsuru’s voice rang throughout the room. Remiel fumed, but said nothing.  
  
“Those are our terms,” Mitsuru said, crisply and clearly. “If that is acceptable to you, then we shall honor the terms of this alliance accordingly. If that is not, then I am more than willing to discuss any disagreement the next time I receive an invitation to the Argent _Embassy_. Do we understand each other?”  
  
Remiel muttered something acid under his breath. He flexed his fingers, summoning his scroll back to his fingers. He shoved it into the hands of the nearest Valkyrie and stalked out of the room, a shadow falling over his face.  
  
Israfel reached up and removed her mask, pulling her veil down from over her mouth. Her amber eyes swam with crimson and gold flame. She smiled, amused.  
  
“Yes. I believe, at last, we _do_ understand each other,” Israfel offered her hand. “Director Kirijo.”  
  
Mitsuru took the angels’ gloved hand and shook it. She smiled.  
  
“Archangel Israfel,” Mitsuru said firmly. “We look forward to your cooperation.”  
  
“And you will have it, for as long as our interests align.”  
  
Israfel turned. Her bodyguards saluted smartly, and began filing out of the room. Israfel followed them out, before pausing in the doorway, her mask tucked under her arm.  
  
“What about the others?”  
  
“What others?”  
  
“All the others,” Israfel smiled, intrigued. “The ones who were with you before. The ones like you, who will not submit. Where do they stand, in terms of this alliance?”  
  
Mitsuru chuckled. She glanced at Sae, before meeting Israfel’s otherworldly eyes.  
  
“Call them rogue.”  
  
~*~  
  
There was a knock at the door. Akira got up to answer it- and wound up blinking into Sojiro’s face.  
  
“Dad?” Akira asked. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“‘What am I doing here’, he says, like I didn’t give him this place,” Sojiro muttered.  
  
“Let me see him!” Sanae shouldered Sojiro aside, beaming up at Akira. “Aki! I’m so glad to see you safe. Hi, Ryuji! Hi, girls!”  
  
“Hi, Mrs. Sakamoto,” Ann and Shiho chorused.  
  
“Hey, Ma,” Ryuji grinned.  
  
“Like I was saying,” Sojiro said, pushing his cracked glasses up on his nose. “I brought company. Hope you don’t mind.”  
  
Akira looked out into the alleyway to see a crowd of familiar faces- Tae. Iwai. Kawakami. Shinya. Ohya. Chihaya. And then, coming up late, crowding around the back, there was Yoshida, and Maxwell, Aigis, Labrys, Kikuno, Fuuka, all piling out of a PSICOM van, with Yukari waving and grinning at the wheel.  
  
“I had a feeling,” Sojiro continued. “That nagging feeling in my gut, whenever my kids are getting together to do some damn fool hero nonsense. Lucky for you, it seems this city’s full of heroes. I went ahead and got you a few volunteers.”  
  
Akira grinned.  
  
A single ace can tip the scales.  
  
But it takes a full hand...  
  
“Looks like we’re gonna need a bigger cafe,” Akira said. “Come on in, everyone. Let’s get to work.”  
  
~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Coming up next:_   
>    
>  _**Epilogue - Those Worthy of the Name** _


	11. Epilogue - Those Worthy of the Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. It's been a long few months, but this is how the World ends- not with a bang, or a whimper, but with an epilogue after almost 15 long weeks. Thank you, to everyone who's stuck with me this far and witnessed the World's turning. I look forward to seeing you all again in my next project. Until that time, take care, all of you. And, as always, I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^

_~*~_ _  
__  
__On the morning of the third day of the Tokyo Blackout, the Tokyo Lockdown began._ _  
__  
__As her final act as Director of PSICOM, Mitsuru Kirijo dispatched her agents to spread the word of the angels’ ultimatum across the city. They posed the choice to as many of Tokyo’s citizens as possible. PSICOM’s last act as a division of the Bureau of Public Safety was escorting this exodus of Tokyo’s citizens beyond the boundaries of the quarantine zone._ _  
__  
__At sunset on the third day, the Holy Knights, under the command of the Archangels Remiel and Israfel, conjured a barrier around the entirety of Tokyo. A dome of shimmering golden light rose above the city, a shining shield the Holy Knights dubbed ‘the Halo’._ _  
__  
__The summoning of the Halo sealed Tokyo off from the outside world. No human could enter. No demon could escape. The threat of the Breach was, effectively, contained. But the world within the barrier was fraught with dangers of its own._ _  
__  
__Shibuya Crossing was gone- destroyed with the death of Erebus and the opening of the Breach. The Holy Knights barricaded the immediate area and declared the surrounding streets off-limits to civilians. The obliterated ruins of Shibuya became a no-man’s-land known as the Scar._ _  
__  
__Demons flooded through the Breach. Most attacked the angelic barricade in a mindless frenzy, and were cut down. Some lingered within the Scar, creating settlements among the rubble._ _  
__  
__Some, to the surprise of many, attempted to negotiate._ _  
__  
__PSICOM, having lost the entirety of its military strength, found a new purpose as a diplomatic entity, overseeing the acceptance of non-hostile demons into Tokyo, and facilitating their peaceful integration into human society- a function that the Holy Knights only begrudgingly allowed._ _  
__  
__The Firepact, gutted by the loss of its members to Mastema’s massacre and subsequent summoning of Erebus, seemingly vanished. The cult re-emerged in Ginza, as a martial fraternity under a new name and new leadership- though they still kept their penchant for wearing red._ _  
__  
__Some months into the Tokyo Lockdown, a contingent of Fae emerged from the Breach, seeking asylum from what they claimed to be “a great conflict” spreading across The Dreaming. Mitsuru Kirijo, now an Ambassador to the Argent Embassy, welcomed the Fae to Tokyo, despite the ominous rumors of just what they were running from._ _  
__  
__PSICOM, with assistance from Ambassador Kirijo, granted the Fae settlement rights to Yoyogi Park. The site of Erebus’ summoning, and the mass sacrifice Mastema used to fuel it, was already beginning to regain some of its former beauty._ _  
__  
__Lady Danu, matriarch of the Tuatha De, reclaimed Yoyogi Park as the birthplace of a new Faerie nation._ _  
__  
__Ambassador Kirijo’s acceptance of demons into Tokyo was not received well by the Holy Knights. But the alliance held, no matter how fragile or uneasy, and life went on._ _  
__  
__An unexpected consequence of Erebus’ death opening the Breach was the resurgence of Gifted among the human population. With friendly demons integrating into human society, and with unprecedented numbers of newly Awakened humans, magic was slowly becoming a fact of life- a development the Holy Knights viewed with suspicion and scorn…_ _  
__  
__While the Holy Knights devoted the majority of their manpower and materiel to containing the Breach, the defense of smaller, secondary rifts fell to the organization founded in the wake of PSICOM’s collapse and restructuring. This group successfully fortified the Tokyo Underground into a bulwark against hostile demons, turning Shinjuku, Ginza, and Ueno stations, among others, into bastions of resistance comparable to any military fortress- all this, despite being a purely civilian group recruiting on a strictly volunteer basis._ _  
__  
__These efforts were spearheaded by an inner circle of brave men and women whose names, over the course of this conflict, would become legendary._ _  
__  
__They are no longer Thieves. There are no more heroes, no more Agents._ _  
__  
__The World is changing._ _  
__  
__There are only Hunters now..._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
_“Operator! Operator, come in…!”_ _  
__  
__“This is Delphi. We read you.”_ _  
__  
__“Delphi, this is Sparrow. Skull and I are pinned down by a hostile force. We have two Cadets with us! Requesting immediate support!”_ _  
__  
__“Acknowledged, Sparrow. Help is on the way…”_ _  
__  
__Skull races across the concourse, ushering along the two Hunter Cadets he’d been assigned for today’s expedition. They were both teenagers- one, in a blue dress with goggles around her head, the other, a youth with short, spiky hair and an undercut, clutching a dagger and staring out at the battle with wide eyes._ _  
__  
__The park offers precious little cover. Skull shoves the two kids down behind a stone fountain, pressing their faces down into the grass. Skull cringes as a tidal wave of magical fire roars just over their heads._ _  
__  
__“No matter what happens,” he begins, “stay down here, and stay out of sight. Let me and Sparrow handle this.”_ _  
__  
__“But coach-” the boy protests._ _  
__  
__“Stay here!” Skull snaps. He lifts his head an inch, peeking out of cover._ _  
__  
__He takes a deep breath and sighs. He opens his hand, and a rectangle of blue fire appears, drifting down into his grasp._ _  
__  
__“Let’s fuckin’ do this,” Ryuji grins. He glances sidelong to the two cadets. “...Sorry, kids. Language.”_ _  
__  
__Ryuji crushes the card in his hand, an aura of blue fire exploding across his fingers and wrapping around his shoulders like a coat. He strides out into the clearing, his aura coalescing into a vibrant yellow robe belted with a crimson sash, the edges of his coat trailing wisps of azure flame._ _  
__  
__“Whoa…” the boy whispers, watching him go. His fellow cadet is similarly transfixed, watching in wide-eyed awe._ _  
__  
__Ryuji marches headlong into a swarm of Fallen, gathering at the edges of the square. He balls his fists, golden energy pooling within his grasp. The horde of demons surges forward-_ _  
__  
__Ryuji throws a punch. A single punch, that roars like thunder._ _  
__  
__An invisible shockwave explodes across the crowd, hurling dozens of Fallen across the park and sending their broken bodies tumbling to rest in the grass._ _  
__  
__Ryuji allows a satisfied smile to cross his face. His audience of enraptured cadets is certainly impressed. But then his opponent looms, rising above the crowd of lesser demons. An obscene, arcane mark flashes in the air. There is a sudden, whooshing roar, and another wave of searing fire comes cascading, crashing down..._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
He woke up.  
  
He did not wake up to the warmth of sunlight on his face, or to birdsong in the trees, or, even, to the ringing of distant, mighty bells. He woke to something better than any of those- to a knock at his door, and to her voice in the hall.  
  
“Hey,” his roommate called. “Are you awake?”  
  
“Come in,” he called out.  
  
She came in, far too cheerful for first thing in the morning. Not that anyone could tell how early it was, just by looking at the sky. The miasma rising from the Breach, along with the distant glow of the Halo, kept Tokyo in perpetual twilight. But this morning, just like every morning, Asahi’s smile was brighter than any sunrise.  
  
“Good morning,” Asahi chirped.  
  
“Is it?” he muttered, but he said it with a smile.  
  
Asahi sat on the edge of his bed while he got dressed. He found his uniform jacket and his undershirt and set them aside, rummaging through a pile of dubiously clean clothes. Having found what he was searching for, he raised it to the sky in triumph, before slipping it on over his head and shoulders.  
  
“Isn’t it too tight?” Asahi asked, as he tugged the garment into place. She was guessing, as her helmet was obligingly pulled down over her eyes.  
  
“No, no, I’m good,” he replied. He fussed over the fit of his binder, before tossing on his undershirt and uniform jacket with barely a second thought.  
  
“How do I look?” he asked, grinning.  
  
Asahi reached up and tipped back the rim of her helmet. She clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling.  
  
“Your hair’s sticking up,” she pointed.  
  
“What?” he glanced up. He groaned, pressing his hair flat against his scalp. When he pulled his hand away, it sprang right back up again. He sighed.  
  
“I knew I should’ve just taken it all off,” he muttered.  
  
“No, no, I like it!” Asahi protested.  
  
“Oh, yeah?” he flashed her a jocular grin.  
  
“Yeah,” Asahi smiled sweetly. “You’re handsome. You’re a good-looking guy.”  
  
He grinned. He raised his arms above his head, stretching, stifling a yawn. He met Asahi’s eyes with a teasing smile. Then he flopped back down into bed.  
  
“Hey, hey, come on!” Asahi said, taking his hands and pulling him upright. “Let’s go, lazybones. We’re gonna be late!”  
  
~*~  
  
The Lodge looked different during the day. At night, it was packed with people, swapping war stories and rumors about new jobs, all under pounding club music and neon lights. But during the day, power rationing left the bar quiet and still.  
  
“You cut your hair,” the bartender said, by way of greeting. “That’s a shame.”  
  
He made a face, self-consciously raising a hand and brushing his fingertips over his half-shaven scalp.  
  
“I think he looks great,” Asahi chimed in beside him. “ _Right_ , Dad?”  
  
“Easy, Asahi. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Boss continued, raising a hand peaceably. He slid a pair of plates down the bar counter. “Come on, eat your breakfast. You’re going to be late.”  
  
Boss leaned back against the bar counter. When he was sure the two of them were tucking into their food, he pulled a remote off the counter and clicked on the TV above the bar.  
  
_“-right here on HNN, one of our first- and one of our best. Be sure to catch our exclusive interview with veteran Hunter Makoto Niijima, the Queen herself…”_ _  
_  
Asahi squealed and pawed at her roommate’s shoulder. On the screen above them, a woman with fierce red eyes and wearing full armor sat at an incongruously quaint coffee shop counter, her gauntleted hands folded primly in her lap. She smiled placidly for the camera. In the background, a carrot-haired girl wandered down the stairs and into the shot, before freezing, a deer in headlights. A slim hand reached down from the stairwell and yanked her away.  
  
“Makoto!” Asahi cooed, giddy. “Oh, isn’t she the coolest? ‘Queen’... More like, queen of my heart!”  
  
“You’re gonna be just like her, someday,” he smiled.  
  
Asahi beamed. “Oh, if only…!”  
  
The newscast continued on, cutting to a reporter framed by a veritable curtain of pink.  
  
_“It’s cherry blossom season again, and Matriarch Danu of the Fae is opening the gates of the Fairy Forest for all our flower viewing festival pleasure. PSICOM’s Ambassador Kirijo had this to say.”_ _  
_  
_“We are fast approaching the first anniversary of the Yoyogi Massacre,”_ Mitsuru said, framed by falling flower petals. _“As the cherry trees bloom again over the site of such tragedy, let us take this time to remember those we have lost, and to celebrate those of us who have endured…”_  
  
_“We reached out to the Holy Knights for their thoughts on the upcoming festival. Knight-Commander Israfel and Archbishop Remiel had this to say.”_  
  
_“The resettlement and reconstruction of Yoyogi Park has proceeded apace, and we commend the Fae for their diligence and tenacity,”_ Israfel said, standing tall, dignified. _“Fittingly, the Forest itself, moreso than its cherry trees, shall be a shining symbol of how hope can arise from suffering.”_ _  
_  
_“However,”_ Remiel cut in, _“we must remain vigilant. The Holy Knights’ first priority has always been and must always be containing the threat posed to this city by the Breach. Ambassador Kirijo has granted the Fae asylum within this city, but we must be mindful of just what it was they were fleeing…”_ _  
_  
_“Sounds like not everyone’s in the holiday mood! The festival at the Fairy Forest will last all week- and I hope to see you all there. This has been Ichiko Ohya, for the Hunter News Network. See you around!”_ _  
__  
_ “Come on, now…” Boss shook his head, scoffing. “Leave it to the angels to bring down the mood.”  
  
“Forget about them!” Asahi chirped. “We’re going to have our picnic and enjoy the festival, no matter what some stuffy angel says. Right? Right?”  
  
He snapped out of his daze. He looked up and blinked. “What? Yes.”  
  
“Are you okay?” Asahi wondered. “...You’ve barely touched your food.”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, managing a small smile. “Just tired.”  
  
~*~  
  
A morning run would get his blood flowing, he was sure of it. Luckily for him, first period that day was P.E., and Coach had a course already laid out- a broad circuit around the northwest quadrant of the city. When they’d first started, Asahi was bright and eager, ready to enjoy the fresh air. An hour later, and he and Asahi were trudging along at the end of a long, ragged file of dead-tired cadets, having come to the crushing realization of just how long this route actually was.  
  
They jogged, together, through the narrow side-streets of Yongen-jaya. In the distance, the miasmal black cloud of the Breach rose above the rooftops, cut through by the shining pillar of the Argent Embassy. The column of golden light shot up out of the gilded angelic headquarters and vanished above them, a pillar holding up the sky and powering the Halo that shielded the city. Angels stood sentinel at every street, gazing impassively, clutching shields and spears to their chests. The boy huffed, swiping a sleeve across his brow, feeling the weight of their otherworldly eyes upon him as he jogged past.  
  
He let out a haggard breath. His calves were aching. His lungs were burning. Still, Asahi flashed him the brightest smile she could muster, and he smiled weakly back.  
  
“What, are you guys tired already?” Coach Sakamoto grinned as he came up from behind, flanked by two adults the boy didn’t recognize. “If you guys can’t handle a little running, then you definitely won’t hold up in a fight.”  
  
“This track’s killing me, Coach,” the boy eked out, breathless.  
  
“Yeah, _Coach_ ,” chided the woman beside him- a tall blonde, her voluminous hair done up in pigtails. “I can’t believe you’re making _us_ run, too.”  
  
“Hey, _you’re_ the one who wanted to come visit me at work.”  
  
“ _I_ wanted to visit,” Coach’s other companion spoke up- a tall, dark-haired man whose glasses flashed in the light. “Ann just wanted to sleep in.”  
  
“If you did, you would’ve missed me,” Coach said.  
  
“Yeah, well,” the blonde’s eyes sparkled, “I’d miss you no matter what.”  
  
“Aww!”  
  
“Hey,” the boy whispered to Asahi, as Coach and his friends started to overtake them. “Doesn’t that lady look kinda… familiar…? Like the villain from that old TV special, _White Rose and the Sunset of Eternity_?”  
  
“I mean, I’d hardly call Dusk a villain. She was just being used by- oh my gosh, you’re _right!_ ” Asahi babbled, excited. “Excuse me!”  
  
“Wait, don’t-”  
  
The trio ahead slowed so the two teens could catch up, Asahi with stars in her eyes, an embarrassed flush creeping across her partner’s cheeks.  
  
“Excuse me, miss…” Asahi began, shyly. “...Do you, um… do you know the actress, Ann Takamaki? She does a lot of cool, kinda, tragic villain or rival characters, and- I mean you, um… you look _just_ like her.”  
  
Coach stifled snickers. His companion grinned, his glasses glinting in the light.  
  
The blonde flashed Asahi a picture-perfect smile.  
  
“You know…” Ann beamed. “...I get that _all the time_.”  
  
~*~  
  
_The pillar of fire cascades through the air and crashes against Ryuji’s crossed arms. The impact sends him stumbling backwards with a grunt and a curse. He looks up, glowering across the way at his opponent. Out of the crowd of demons flooding the park, one stands above all the rest- one with a peacock’s tail and a horse’s head, and tendrils of magicked fire spiraling around its form._ _  
__  
__“Who are you?” Ryuji demands. “Who sent you here?”_ _  
__  
__“I am Adramelech,” the horse-headed demon replies with a flamboyant coo, “and I serve a power greater than you can ever imagine.”_ _  
__  
__Another pillar of fire blazes across the concourse. Ryuji grits his teeth and weathers the assault, the wave parting around him like a river around an upright stone. When the flames recede, he’s breathless and smouldering- but still standing tall._ _  
__  
__Adramelech frowns, annoyed._ _  
__  
__“Our business here is no concern of yours, human,” he says disdainfully. “But then again, my legion is quite famished. So, if you’d be a dear and simply finish cooking…”_ _  
__  
__Just a few steps away, Asahi’s eyes go wide. She claps a hand over her mouth so she won’t exclaim in fear and disgust. Being killed by a demon, that was a danger she’d accepted when she became a Hunter cadet. But being eaten…_ _  
__  
__A gentle breeze passes over the park, momentarily stilling Asahi’s anxiety. She hazards a peek over the edge of the fountain she and the boy are cowering behind._ _  
__  
__A female Hunter joins Ryuji in the square- a woman in a white tunic, capris, strapped sandals, and a laurel wreath in her long, dark hair._ _  
__  
__Callsign Sparrow conjures a wisp of soothing green light to her fingertips, and presses her hand to Ryuji’s chest. Light blooms over Ryuji’s heart, and he breathes deep of her healing power. He locks eyes with Adramelech across the way, grinning in audacity, in defiance._ _  
__  
__“Hate to break it to you,” Ryuji says, “but I do a lot of running. Lean and gamey. I probably don’t taste very good.”_ _  
__  
__“Oh, I bet you taste great!” Sparrow chirps, ruining the moment. Ryuji rolls his eyes._ _  
__  
__“Thanks, Shiho, but the point is-”_ _  
__  
__Ryuji steps forward, staring Adramelech down._ _  
__  
__“...none of us are getting eaten today.”_ _  
__  
__Adramelech snorts in irritation._ _  
__  
__“Foolish boy,” he spits._ _  
__  
__The atmosphere fills with an intense, dry heat, like the inside of a furnace. Embers crackle in the air. Adramelech lifts his arms in exultation, and fire gathers above him, looping whorls and tendrils merging together into a knot of luminous, blazing wrath. Then, with a scornful, dismissive flick of his wrists, Adramelech sends the orb crashing down._ _  
__  
__“Coach!” Asahi screams, her voice swallowed up in the explosion. The boy yanks her down into cover and shoves her face down into the brittle grass. A wave of intense heat and roaring flames flashes above them, and a tremor shivers the earth beneath._ _  
__  
__The blast sears glowing patterns into the paving stones- hellish brands inscribed on the earth itself. But as the smoke clears and the flames recede, Asahi and her partner catch a glimpse of Ryuji and Shiho, at the very center of the blast._ _  
__  
__They’re on their knees, a starburst of soot blackening the ground around them- save for a tiny circle that, somehow, went untouched.They huddle together, breathless and smouldering, wreathed in a cold blue fire and wisps of luminous green magicked wind._ _  
__  
__“Oh, man,” Ryuji groans, though he still manages to give Shiho a rueful smile. “Of all the days for Ann to sleep in…”_ _  
__  
__Shiho laughs, even as Adramelech lifts his arms and starts gathering power for another blast._ _  
__  
__“Like a log,” Shiho smiles weakly, as the air crackles and blisters with heat..._  
  
~*~  
  
He snapped awake, blinking away the dream. The professor was looming above him, clutching an ornate wooden cane inlaid with engraved serpents, which he’d just taken the liberty of banging across the top of his desk.  
  
“I’ll have no sleeping in my classroom, Miss Kido,” Maxwell said, his cane disappearing into the folds of his cloak. “That’s the third time this week. Any more, and you’ll have to have a word with the principal. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.  
  
“Moving on,” Maxwell continued. “As I was saying, the Trinity of Magic is composed of the three broad types of magic, categorized by the sources of their power. Arcane magic draws its strength from the natural world; Psionics, from the mind; and Divine power, from contracts with supernatural, or, arguably, ‘higher’ beings. Standing apart from the Trinity- in its shadow, if you would- is Dark magic, an unofficial term for any obscure or uncategorized form of magic, as well as the phenomenon known as ‘Persona’, whose categorization as a subset of either Psionic or Divine magic is still being debated…”  
  
~*~  
  
Maxwell’s lecture went on and on. At some point- and, honestly, he could scarcely remember when, he was hardly paying attention- Maxwell dismissed them, begrudgingly, since he could undoubtedly talk for hours.  
  
Asahi and her partner gathered their things and made their way to the stairwell, passing a number of rooms lit with the garish glow of UV lamps. With the drop in available teachers, alongside the student body being a tiny fraction of what it used to be, much of the Academy had been turned over to indoor farming. The miasma rising from the Breach blotted out the sun, and the morose, artificial light of the Halo was no substitute. But, like everything else in Tokyo ever since the Lockdown began, life found a way- and when it couldn’t, humanity made one.  
  
The duo waved hello to the pair of Hunters on gardening duty- one of them, tall, dark, and aloof, the other, always bright and sunny, even when she was carrying 40-pound bags of fertilizer on her shoulders like they were nothing- and then made their way up to the roof. A boy, slender and long-limbed, was waiting for them on a bench.  
  
“You cut your hair,” Shinya said, by way of greeting.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, reaching up and running his fingertips over his buzzed left temple. “How, uh, how does it look…?”  
  
“It looks good,” Shinya grinned. “The rest of you looks like shit, though.”  
  
“ _Thanks_ , Shinya,” Asahi rolled her eyes, indignant. She punched Shinya in the arm.  
  
“Dr. Maxwell busted me for sleeping in class,” Asahi’s partner muttered.  
  
“Can’t blame you,” Shinya shrugged. “Who’s got time to be learning about magical theory? Not this guy.”  
  
“Come on, guys,” Asahi chided. “It’s important! We’ll have to know that stuff if we want to become full-fledged Hunters.”  
  
“ _You_ might,” her partner said. “You’re a budding Arcanist. But we still haven’t shown a drop of magical potential.”  
  
Shinya grinned and threw an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “Looks like us guys’ll just have to stick with ol’ reliable.”  
  
“Sure,” Asahi teased, “I’ll learn magic, and you two can bash demons with your thick skulls.”  
  
“Well,” Shinya said, “I was gonna say ‘guns’...”  
  
They ate together in a comfortable quiet, chatting beneath the whoosh and whir of the wind turbines spinning above them. This was just one node of many, spread across dozens of rooftops. The wind energy network was installed to supplement Tokyo’s energy needs after the unexplained failure of its primary power grid a few days before the Lockdown began.  
  
The view wasn’t quite the same as it was before. Power rationing meant that the full glory of Tokyo’s neon-lit nightlife was firmly a thing of the past. But even with the city only half-lit, and only until curfew…  
  
The view from the rooftop wasn’t bad at all.  
  
The boy sat, his elbows on his knees, watching as a pair of maintenance workers in dark coveralls worked on the node, examining the panel set at the base of each turbine. He took a half-hearted bite out of a rice ball, chewing thoughtfully as he let his mind wander. He was only vaguely aware of Shinya and Asahi having what he would call a ‘spirited debate’ beside him.  
  
“You mean to tell me that if you woke up with magical potential, you _wouldn’t_ study it?” Asahi pressed.  
  
“I wouldn’t. I would stick with guns.”  
  
“But guns are so boring!”  
  
“You say ‘boring’, I say ‘reliable’,” Shinya huffed. “If a gun doesn’t fire, you know the reason why. Sometimes magic fails just because you’re not paying enough attention!”  
  
“That wouldn’t be a problem if you had an attention span worth a damn,” Asahi replied.  
  
“Hey,” Shinya said, jabbing the boy in the ribs. “Guns or magic? What do you think, huh?”  
  
He blinked. “...Man, I don’t know. I don’t have a horse in this race. Personally, I like to fight up close.”  
  
“Thanks for having my back,” Shinya grumbled. “I bet Ai here gets me. Hey, Ai!”  
  
One of the maintenance workers stood up at Shinya’s call, and came over. She had blonde hair and an unsettling, piercing gaze.  
  
“Yes?” she asked.  
  
“Okay,” Shinya began, “maybe you can settle a little debate I’ve got with my friends-”  
  
“I will not get involved in these matters,” Ai said, stiff. “...Technically, none of you are supposed to be up here.”  
  
Shinya smiled sheepishly. “...I won’t tell if you won’t?”  
  
“We always see you up here,” Asahi said. “Either here, or downstairs in the gardens.”  
  
Ai shrugged. “There is always work to be done.”  
  
“I’m just saying, you’re working non-stop,” Asahi continued. “You’re like a machine.”  
  
“Do not be preposterous,” Ai said. “I am but a humble electrician/maintenance worker/security officer. I am merely doing my job. Now, if you will excuse me.”  
  
She wandered off, joining her silver-haired companion across the rooftop. The trio watched her go.  
  
“I hope she gets paid overtime,” Shinya muttered. A thoughtful moment passed, before he turned and nudged his companions. “Hey. Have you guys ever wondered about what you wanna do?”  
  
“Well, we’re gonna be Hunters,” the boy offered. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”  
  
“Well yeah, obviously,” Shinya said. “But I mean, like, long-term. Me, I was thinkin’ I could take after my dad. Be an armorer, run a gun shop.”  
  
“What is it with you and guns?” Asahi teased.  
  
“Shut up,” Shinya grinned. “What about you?”  
  
“I want to be like Commander Niijima, obviously!” Asahi chirped. “She’s so strong, and cool… she beats up demons, and looks good doing it. Girls want her, and guys want to _be_ her. She’s the best!”  
  
“Isn’t that normally the other way around…?” Her partner wondered.  
  
“Whatever,” Shinya waved the thought away. “How about you, man? What do you want to do?”  
  
The boy stopped, staring down at his feet, his expression suddenly darkening.  
  
“Live,” he said, lifting his head and gazing out across Tokyo. “I just want to live.”  
  
~*~  
  
_A cascade of fire flashes across Ryuji’s crossed arms. He yells in defiance and throws a punch. An invisible kinetic shockwave slams into the wave of fire like a speeding train, parting the flames and hurling Adramelech headlong across the park. Ryuji and Shiho are left in his wake, smouldering and breathless but still standing despite it all._ _  
__  
__Smoke weeps up from Ryuji’s arms, his robe tattered and crisping at the edges, his leather bracers charred black. He reaches up and draws the back of his hand across his brow, smearing his face with soot and sweat. Shiho’s steadying hand closes around his shoulder, wisps of green light dancing at her fingertips._ _  
__  
__“How are you feeling?” Shiho murmurs, out of breath._ _  
__  
__Ryuji gives her a smile that’s more of a wince. “Normally, I’d say some macho shit about how I could do this all day…”_ _  
__  
__“But…?”_ _  
__  
__“But it’s you,” Ryuji says quietly, “and I’m not gonna lie. It doesn’t look great.”_ _  
__  
__Shiho’s link chirps. She raises a hand to her earpiece, lifting her gaze._ _  
__  
__“...But it’s not as bad as it looks,” she says, with a quiet conviction. “Kana says Raven and Queen are only minutes away. We just need to hold on…”_ _  
__  
__“Aww, man,” Ryuji smiles ruefully. “If Makoto gets here and I’ve let you get blown up, I’ll never hear the end of it…”_ _  
__  
__Adramelech’s minions chitter in dismay at their leader being so unceremoniously flung into a bush. They gather around him, and he swats them away, rising to his feet._ _  
__  
__“Tenacious whelps,” the demon growls, fire blazing in his eyes. “You’re really going to make me work for my dinner, aren’t you?”_ _  
__  
__“I can do this all day!” Ryuji boasts, though the tremor in his voice says otherwise._ _  
__  
__Adramelech draws himself to his full height, spreading his peacock tail. The vibrant blue spots on his feathers seem to shine like gazing, judgmental eyes- and then suddenly, they’re burning, alight with rings of fire, shining with blazing magic as streams of flame converge in the air._ _  
__  
__Ryuji swallows hard, gazing up at the demon, protectively pulling Shiho behind him._ _  
__  
__“I think I can take one more shot,” he mutters under his breath. “When Makoto gets here, you three can take him down. Keep the kids safe. Then worry about me.”_ _  
__  
__Shiho nods. She takes Ryuji’s hand, squeezes. A current of green healing power surges up his arm and pools in his spine, lighting up his back with a shining magical crest._ _  
__  
__“We will outlast him,” Shiho breathes. “Together.”_ _  
__  
__A noise pierces the sky. A whistle, sharp, shrill, and clear._ _  
__  
__The boy stands, his whistle falling from his lips and down against his chest. He stares down Adramelech, even with a huge arcane sigil drawing itself in fire above the demon’s head, and gathers the whole of his courage into three defiant words._ _  
__  
__“Leave them alone,” he growls. His hand closes around the hilt of the blade strapped to his back._ _  
__  
__“What are you doing?!” Asahi all-but screams._ _  
__  
__“No!” Ryuji roars. “Kid, don’t-!”_ _  
__  
__The boy screams out a battle cry and charges, blade in hand. Adramelech spares him only a contemptuous, sidelong glance._ _  
__  
__He hears Asahi shriek his name-_ _  
__  
__-and then there’s nothing._ _  
__  
__No sound. No pain._ _  
__  
__There is only light._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
“Hey!”  
  
He woke with a start, Shinya snapping his fingers in front of his face.  
  
“Earth to Sleepyhead, come in, Sleepyhead,” Shinya smirked, resting a hand on his hip. “Everything alright in there?”  
  
He mashed the heel of his palm into his eyes, blinking the phantoms away.  
  
“I’m fine, I’m fine…” he murmured. He glanced up and down the hall, getting his bearings. “...Where are we?”  
  
“Um? The principal’s office? You weirdo?” Shinya chided. “Geez, what’s been with you today? You’re even spacier than normal.”  
  
“Are you okay?” Asahi asked gently. “You’ve been really out of it.”  
  
“I haven’t been sleeping right,” he admitted. “Weird dreams. It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“If you say so,” Shinya shrugged.  
  
Asahi nodded towards the door. “So… are you ready?”  
  
He swallowed. “...As I’ll ever be. Listen, I just wanted to thank you guys for-”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Shinya said, nudging him forward. “Go for it! Go on!”  
  
He took a deep breath, let it out slow. He rapped his knuckles on the door.  
  
“Come in,” the principal called.  
  
He met the eyes of his best friends, nodded, and stepped inside.  
  
The principal peered up at him from a pair of half-moon reading glasses, shuffling a pile of papers on her desk.  
  
“Miss Kido,” she began. He winced. “You cut your hair. I like it. Very punk.”  
  
“Th-Thank you,” he said, fidgeting.  
  
“Now, if this is about Dr. Maxwell, you certainly have my sympathy,” she continued. “Just between you and me, he sure can talk, can’t he? And I know Coach Sakamoto has been working you Cadets to the bone. Now, all that being said, we still can’t allow you to just sleep through class…”  
  
“A-Actually, ma’am,” he cut in, “this is about something else.”  
  
She blinked up at him. “Oh?”  
  
He reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out an envelope, with a typed letter inside. Shinya had gone on the internet and found him a form letter he could use, but Asahi insisted that he write it himself. It’d be more ‘heartfelt’. Whatever that meant.  
  
“I was wondering if… you could bring that up with the other faculty. So I don’t have to do this again, five or six more times,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “Is, um… is that alright…?”  
  
The principal set his request down and smoothed it flat on her desk, pulling off her reading glasses. She gazed up at him, eyes glinting in the Halo-light filtering in through her office window.  
  
“Absolutely,” Principal Kawakami smiled. “I’ll let them know right away.”  
  
~*~  
  
“‘Nanashi’? You’re going with ‘Nanashi’?” Shinya asked, on their way back from school.  
  
“At least until I come up with something cooler,” Nanashi shrugged. “Why? You don’t think it’s a boy’s name?”  
  
“It’s not even a _name_ , you dork,” Shinya smirked. “It literally means ‘no-name’.”  
  
“Well, _I_ think it suits him perfectly,” Asahi chimed in.  
  
“Kiss-ass,” Shinya muttered. Asahi punched him in the arm.  
  
“I mean it,” Asahi continued. They ambled casually down the narrow streets of Yongen-jaya, on the outskirts of the Scar. The gleaming pillar of the Argent Embassy rose above them, like Atlas holding up the sky. “Listen, we’re still Cadets, right? Still in training? Well, once we become fully-fledged Hunters, we’ll have finally made a name for ourselves! We’ll be heroes of the people, known far and wide!”  
  
“Hey, if you say so,” Shinya shrugged.  
  
“Ugh, Shinya!” Asahi scoffed. “Could you have some enthusiasm for once in your life?”  
  
“What are you guys gonna pick for your Hunter names?” Nanashi asked, pre-empting their bickering.  
  
“I don’t know…” Asahi mused, tapping her chin. “I mean, some people just use their real names, right?”  
  
“I already have mine picked out,” Shinya said proudly. “‘Roland’.”  
  
“‘Roland’? Like, _The Song of Roland_?” Nanashi asked. “Like, ‘nephew of the French King Charlemagne, wielder of the legendary sword Durandal’, that Roland?”  
  
Shinya stared at him.  
  
“No, it’s- What- _Why_ do you know all that?”  
  
“Nanashi reads a lot in his spare time,” Asahi chimed in. “How do _you_ use your internet hours?”  
  
Shinya coughed. “Uh. Well.”  
  
A sudden, shrill noise pierced the air. Three whistle blasts, one after another, each one long and loud.  
  
The trio froze. They glanced at each other, anxiety thrumming beneath their skin.  
  
“An alert,” Nanashi said quietly.  
  
“Yeah,” Asahi said, touching the whistle on its cord around her neck. “Should we…?”  
  
“Hold on,” Shinya said. “M-Maybe someone else will answer it.”  
  
They wait, listening.  
  
A handful of Hunters have dedicated comm networks and proper headsets, but those are luxuries reserved for the elite. The rest make due with the signal whistles that every Hunter Cadet carries as standard.  
  
Three long, echo two. Three long blasts at the point of origin to signal an alert; two short chirps by all other Hunters in the area to let the spotter know if there’s any backup nearby, how long it will be before they arrive, and to let everyone else know to take cover and lock their doors.  
  
They stood there, tense, waiting for the echo. But then they heard it again- three whistle blasts, long and loud, wailing from the next street over.  
  
They heard a pair of chirps, somewhere in the distance, but it must have been six, seven blocks away.  
  
Asahi brought her whistle to her lips and sounded the echo. Nanashi was already moving, one hand around Asahi’s wrist, the other reaching for the blade slung over his shoulder.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Shinya muttered, as he broke into a run.  
  
~*~  
  
They found the source of the alert two city blocks over- a hapless Tokyoite perched in the boughs of a tree, a half dozen ghouls clamoring about its base. From where he was standing, he was well out of reach of the ghouls’ claws- but crowded as they were around the tree trunk, he couldn’t exactly get down. Wearing an expression of more sheepish annoyance rather than fear, he lifted his alert whistle to his lips and blew the signal again- three blasts, long and loud.  
  
Nanashi turned the corner, saw the commotion, and immediately yanked Asahi and Shinya down into cover behind a low wall. Nanashi reached over his shoulder and drew the long knife he kept sheathed across his back. Asahi anxiously hummed a tune under her breath, wisps of pale blue magic forming at her fingertips. Shinya looked at her strangely.  
  
“What is that? Some opera?” He asked.  
  
“It’s _Carmen_ ,” Nanashi said. “Whatever helps you focus, right?”  
  
“Right,” Shinya said. He reached down to the low-caliber training pistol holstered at his thigh.  
  
Shinya took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Then he rose out of cover, and took his shot.  
  
There were six demons gathered below the tree- gray-skinned, empty-eyed wretches that moaned dumbly up at their prey, out of reach.  
  
A ghoul’s head exploded in a puff of gristle and gore. Immediately, its companions locked their hollow eyes on Shinya, striding down the street.  
  
They broke into a run, charging down the street with startling speed. Shinya swallowed his nerves, murmuring a mantra under his breath.  
  
“I do not aim with my hand,” Shinya intoned. “He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.”  
  
Another ghoul dropped like a stone, a smoking hole between its eyes.  
  
“I do not shoot with my hand. He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.”  
  
Another ghoul dead. Perfect headshot. Three for three.  
  
“Shinya!” Nanashi called.  
  
“I do not kill with my gun…” Shinya said, eerily calm, as two more ghouls leapt at him and were killed before they could reach him- one with a dagger through its chest, the other by a blast of raw, unformed magic. He took his shot.  
  
The shot deflected off of the demon’s conical bronze helmet.  
  
Shinya’s composure shattered. He fired another shot, going wide in his haste. The demon swatted his pistol from his hands with a numbing crack of its broad-bladed spear. Shinya stumbled backwards onto the ground, his pistol skittering across the pavement. The demon raised its spear-  
  
A bolt of raw magic, wispy and ghost-like, slammed into the demon’s chest and scorched its breastplate. An instant later, Nanashi darted in close, inside the demon’s guard. He spun his dagger so his thumb was behind the grip, and punched it along the inside of the demon’s unprotected arm. The drawing cut tore open its forearm and forced it to drop its spear.  
  
Asahi hurled another bolt of magic, bursting against the demon’s chestplate hard enough to crack it in half. Nanashi went for the kill, aiming to plunge his dagger into the exposed gap in its armor-  
  
The demon clamped its clammy gray fingers around Nanashi’s throat. Nanashi gagged, as the demon, unnaturally tall and long-limbed, lifted him off the ground.  
  
“Nanashi!” Asahi cried out.  
  
Shinya scooped his pistol up off the pavement. He checked the chamber, and settled his aim.  
  
“I do not kill with my gun,” Shinya recited. “He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.”  
  
He squinted down the iron sights of his pistol, lining up a shot against the crack in its breastplate.  
  
“I kill with my heart.”  
  
There was a sudden shriek of metal, and the demon dropped Nanashi to the pavement. Two spinning, bladed rings sawed through the demon’s armor from behind and burst out through its chest, flying through the air as if they held a will of their own.  
  
A woman strode down the street, in white breeches, black riding boots, and a dark, tailed coat that shimmered in the light, gleaming like obsidian. The two glossy black chakrams came to rest in her hands, and she dismissed them, dispelling them into wisps of blue fire.  
  
“Sorry to cut in,” she said with a smile. “You looked like you had things mostly under control.”  
  
“Mostly,” Shinya said, sheepish, holstering his pistol. Beside him, Asahi was helping Nanashi to his feet. Nanashi rubbed his neck, wincing.  
  
The Hunter strode up and examined the corpse of the final demon, nudging its conical helmet with her boot.  
  
“Yomotsu-Ikusa,” she muttered. “Now what, exactly, is the army of Yomi doing here in Tokyo…?”  
  
“Ma’am?” Nanashi ventured.  
  
“It’s nothing,” she shook her head. She looked up at the boy who called in the alert, still stuck in his tree. “Are you alright up there?”  
  
“Yep!” He called back. “Just enjoying the show!”  
  
“You three did well,” the Hunter said, turning to the trio. “Which Lodge are you with?”  
  
“Kinshicho, ma’am,” Shinya said. “And, uh, technically we’re still Cadets.”  
  
“Color me impressed,” she smiled. A silver starburst glinted on her cheek- a tattoo, or a scar. “I’m Raven, from the Yongen-jaya Lodge.”  
  
“Yongen-?!” Asahi sputtered. “Does- Does that mean you know Commander Niijima?!”  
  
Raven smiled, coy. “We’ve met.”  
  
Asahi squealed, bombarding Raven with questions. Nanashi watched her, smiling with the utmost fondness. He lifted his head, as if suddenly remembering something. He nudged Shinya’s arm.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Was that…” Nanashi stifled a snicker. “...was that The Gunslinger’s Creed?”  
  
“Shut up,” Shinya muttered, red flashing across his cheeks. “Whatever helps you focus, right?”  
  
“Easy, easy,” Raven was saying, placing her steadying hands on Asahi’s shoulders while the younger girl bubbled with excitement. “You Cadets did a good job, responding to this alert, but there’s still one thing left to do. Asahi, right? Do you want to do the honors?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am!” Asahi beamed.  
  
Asahi pulled her alert whistle to her lips. The all-clear signal was a single blast, long, loud and clear...  
  
~*~  
  
_The whistle howls in his ears and he jolts awake, feeling the uneven tracks beneath his feet. The train. The train is coming-_ _  
__  
__It rushes past, whistle screaming, a gust shoving him forward a few steps. The world is filled with smoke, and distant embers glowing like fireflies, rising from a bonfire in the abyss below. Twisted, spiraling train tracks stretch between islands that hang suspended in the air- mere waystations, gathering grounds for the lost and the damned. Pale shades cling to streetlamps and signboards, unwilling to descend into the pit. But every few minutes, like clockwork, there is the shrill blast of the train whistle and the rush of wind speeding past, and each shade has no choice but to take a few trudging steps downhill…_ _  
__  
__He walks the path laid out by the train tracks, towards a beacon of golden light rising out of the darkness. In another time, in another life, he might have walked the gray silt path of the Sunless Road, and found a woman at the end of the path- a woman all in black, with a snake up her sleeve and an ankh around her neck._ _  
__  
__All roads lead to Her, in time. But not here. Not now._ _  
__  
__There is a man waiting for him at the end of the path, clad head to toe in armor the color of freshly tilled soil. Beneath his helmet, he can see a shock of red hair, a skeletal smile, and piercing green eyes._ _  
__  
__The man’s voice is deep, commanding, yet colored with an Irish lilt._ _  
__  
__“Hate teh break it to ye, kid,” the man grins. “_ ** _You’re dead._** _”_  
  
~*~  
  
Nanashi snapped out of his daze just as the Doctor pulled the needle out of his arm.  
  
“That should hold you for awhile,” she said, tossing him a wad of cotton to press to his needle mark. “It’s not glamorous, but every Hunter needs their shots. Especially if you’re going to be poking around the Breach. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Dr. Takemi.”  
  
“Go on, then,” Tae said, tightening a glove. “Next!”  
  
Nanashi ducked out into the waiting room while Asahi and Shinya got their shots. The human immune system simply wasn’t prepared for the Breach opening up in Shibuya Crossing and filling the air with miasma. The Breach introduced an entirely new bioculture to Tokyo. Only a handful of people with magical potential- including the legendary, veteran Hunters of Yongen-jaya Lodge- had any innate resistance to demon-borne disease. As for everyone else, they had to get their shots- inoculations and vaccines developed by PSICOM medical staff in a program spearheaded by Dr. Takemi herself.  
  
Anyone else would have found this a daunting task, finding themselves on the very brink of known medical science, and gazing out into the dark. But then, Tae always loved a challenge.  
  
There was a hiss of pain down the hall, and Nanashi snapped alert. The poor man sounded like he was in agony. Whoever he was, he had Nanashi’s sympathy. Tokyo nowadays was more dangerous than ever…  
  
“Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow!” Mishima whined.  
  
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Shiho teased, dabbing at his wound with a wad of cotton soaked in rubbing alcohol. “You always said you wanted to see some action.”  
  
“And I did!” Mishima declared proudly. “I faced down demons, and now, I even have the battle scars to prove it!”  
  
“Yuki, you jumped out of a tree after three Cadets had to save you from demons, tripped, and scraped your knee on the sidewalk,” Shiho said.  
  
“That’s still more action than I got when the Blackout first started!” Mishima complained. “You and Akira’s crew were out there being heroes, and what was I doing? Getting carded at a bar in Shinjuku because I still look like I’m sixteen!”  
  
Mishima crossed his arms and pouted, not unlike a sixteen-year-old.  
  
“These things take time,” Shiho chirped, ever supportive. “Everyone responds to hormones differently. But don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll get that mustache, someday!”  
  
Back in the waiting room, Nanashi was spacing out- his mind wandering back to that strange, shadowed place full of railroad tracks and howling train whistles. Then, Asahi plopped down onto the couch right beside him. Her smile banished the morbid thoughts, like light through the clouds. He wordlessly took her hand with a squeeze, and she laid her head on his shoulder.  
  
Shinya stepped out of the exam room, holding a wad of cotton to the inside of his elbow. He glanced at Asahi and Nanashi on the couch, snickering.  
  
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”  
  
“What, are you jealous?” Asahi teased.  
  
“Please,” Shinya scoffed, before taking a seat beside Nanashi, regardless.  
  
Nanashi took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh. Just, y’know, a teenager and his two best friends having a cuddle, nothing to see here.  
  
A man stepped into the clinic- tall, powerfully-built, with a long, dark coat and a tattoo on his throat. He talked, briefly, to the orderly in red scrubs manning the reception desk. He turned, glancing towards the trio.  
  
Nanashi sat up, wary, Asahi stirring beside him.  
  
“Hey,” he whispered, urgent. “That guy’s checking us out.”  
  
“Relax,” Shinya said. “It’s just my dad.”  
  
“What’s with the lollipop?” Asahi asked.  
  
Shinya shrugged. “Ever since he quit smoking.”  
  
The man crossed over to the group, his hands in his pockets, a steely look in his eyes. Shinya stood up, and Nanashi and Asahi followed suit- but he still towered over all three of them. Slowly, he pulled a hand out of his coat pocket. Nanashi swallowed, suddenly anxious.  
  
Then the man laid a hand on Shinya’s head and ruffled his hair.  
  
“Sounds like for a minute there, you three were heroes,” Iwai grinned. He looked Nanashi and Asahi up and down. “You kids alright?”  
  
“We’re _fine_ , Dad,” Shinya said, swatting Iwai’s hand away and smoothing out his hair. “Can we go now?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Iwai said. “You two need a ride?”  
  
“No, sir, thank you,” Nanashi said, stiff. “We’ll be okay.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Iwai shrugged, before waving lazily and striding away.  
  
“Hey, Shinya!” Asahi called out. “Are we gonna see you at the flower festival?”  
  
“Do I look like somebody who goes to flower festivals?” Shinya scoffed. He smiled. “...Yeah. I’ll be there. Hey, make me a bento, would you?”  
  
“Like I’d ever cook for _you_!”  
  
Shinya laughed. “See you guys at the park. And hey, Nanashi- try not to space out all day.”  
  
~*~  
  
_The man in armor looks Nanashi up and down, his appraising eyes glinting emerald in Yomotsu Hirasaka’s strange, otherworldly light. He smiled at him- a permanent, skeletal smile, twisted into an unsettling rictus grin._ _  
__  
__“You’ve accomplished nothing in the admittedly short span of your life,” the man intones. “You’ve played at being a hero, and thrown your life away while the real heroes stood back and watched. You live in a world at the whim of gods, angels, and demons. Sure, some of them might play at diplomacy, cooperation… but I know better than that.”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi says nothing, only stares past the man in armor into the pillar of blazing light behind him, stretching up into the endless sky._ _  
__  
__“Work for me,” the man says, “and I will make you more than human. More than a hero. Even more than a god. Work for me, and your life will be yours again. Work for me, and humanity will bow to no one- not angels, not demons, not fairies or gods. What do you say?”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi hesitates. He opens his mouth, closes it again. The man’s shining green eyes bore into his very soul._ _  
__  
__“It’s me or the Pit, kid,” the man says. “It’s not a hard choice. All I need… is your name.”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi swallows hard, but says nothing. He catches a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. He turns to look, but finds himself drawn back to the armored visage of the man before him._ _  
__  
__“I’m offering you a new life, kid,” the man growls. “There’s a demon out there ready to roast those friends of yours. I can give you the power to stop him, and every demon like him.”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi sees the light- a white light, like a butterfly, flitting away. He turns, watching the white butterfly vanish into the darkness behind him._ _  
__  
__“You’ll never get a deal like this again!” the man demands. “Give me your name! Say something!”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi doesn’t speak. He walks the shadowed path, away from the pillar, away from the man with emerald fire in his eyes._ _  
__  
__“Don’t do this, kid!” the man roars. “Don’t turn your back on me, or I swear, you’ll live to regret it!”_ _  
__  
__Nanashi takes another step, the man’s outraged snarling echoing behind him. He takes another step, and another, and then suddenly he’s falling, through the dark and the deep, through the space between the worlds. Flitting before him, guiding him, is the white butterfly, shining like a candleflame- and, in the abyss below, the outline of a door draws itself in brilliant azure light..._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
Nanashi woke with a gasp. Flower petals drifted in the gentle breeze above him, cast in the faint, shimmering light of the Halo. Waking up to that sight, so serene, so peaceful, Nanashi could almost believe that this was the afterlife- until he heard the familiar sound of Asahi’s voice, and felt the warmth of her fingers in his hair.  
  
“Nanashi,” she called, resting her hands on his temples. “Wake up, lazybones. You better get up, or else Shinya’s gonna eat all your food.”  
  
Nanashi sat up and glanced at Shinya, beside him. Shinya blinked at him, a bento guiltily sitting on his lap.  
  
“...I’ll do it, too,” Shinya said. Nanashi grinned.  
  
The splendor of Yoyogi Park in full spring bloom stretched out around them. The air filled with cherry blossoms, adrift on a gentle spring breeze, and the chattering of the crowds of picnickers here to enjoy the view. Before the Lockdown, Yoyogi Park was one of Tokyo’s premier locations for flower-viewing festivals, and it kept that status even after the Halo went up. The light of the Halo, obscured by the Breach’s miasmal fog, wasn’t anywhere near as bright as a sunny spring day. But life went on, and the festival went along with it.  
  
The park was packed. Everywhere, people were lounging on picnic blankets or strolling beneath the shower of flower petals. Fae lay draped along tree branches or frolicked, barefoot, through the grass, singing songs in strange tongues and pulling bewildered humans in to join their dances. Angels walked among the crowd. Some of them stood guard, stone-faced, bearing spear and shield and clad in full armor. Others, wearing only simple robes, tentatively joined the festivities, watching the Fae sing and dance, politely refusing invitations to join. They walked apart from the humans and Fae, aloof, yet unable to fully hide their intrigue and wonder. They mingled with a crowd gathering in the central lane of the park, a path lined with vendors, buskers, and food stalls. Nanashi saw a woman in a purple dress sitting at a small, velvet-lined table, offering young couples a chance to read their fortune.  
  
Standing apart from the crowd, on a hill overlooking the festivities, was a regal woman with long, dark hair, her face hidden behind a silver mask and crowned with a wreath of flowers. She bore a staff with an emblem of a shamrock, and had a fur-lined cloak draped across her shoulders. Standing in her shadow was a man in armor, a scarf fluttering around his neck. He had his arms crossed, gazing out at the crowd with an impassive, almost bored expression. His eyes gleamed emerald, and his armor was the color of freshly tilled earth.  
  
“Hey,” Nanashi said, nudging Asahi and nodding towards the regal duo. “Is that…?”  
  
“Queen Danu,” Asahi nodded. “Matriarch of the Fae.”  
  
“And the man with her,” Nanashi whispered. “Is that the King?”  
  
Asahi shook her head. “Her son, the prince. Prince Dagda.”  
  
“Dagda…” Nanashi murmured.  
  
Something flickered across the edge of his vision, rousing him from his thoughts. A white light, like a butterfly, flitting away.  
  
“Something wrong?” Asahi wondered, affectionately trailing her fingers through Nanashi’s hair.  
  
“He’s probably just spacing out again,” Shinya offered.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Nanashi said.  
  
He watched the white butterfly vanish into the crowd, losing it amongst the flurry of falling flower petals. A gentle breeze swept across them, smelling of honeysuckle and spring.  
  
Nanashi breathed deep, and let out a content sigh.  
  
“Just a dream.”  
  
~*~  
  
_The white butterfly flies, trailing history in its wake._ _  
__  
__It lands on a white-gloved hand, its wings flitting. So gentle. So fragile, like the petals of these cherry blossoms, falling all around them. But a thing is not precious because it lasts._ _  
__  
__Lavenza blows a kiss across her knuckles and sends the harbinger on its way. She watches as it goes, her golden eyes gleaming in the Halo’s half-light._ _  
__  
__“So, how long have you two been together?” The fortuneteller asks, beside her._ _  
__  
__“Oh, we’re not- we’re not_ ** _together_** _, together,” Morgana stammers, sheepish. “But, um. We’ve known each other for a long, long time.”_ _  
__  
__“Oh, that’s so cute,” Chihaya coos, shuffling her tarot deck. “Well, then, take a seat. Your fate is in the cards…”_ _  
__  
__The white butterfly flits onwards. It guides. It bears witness._ _  
__  
__It follows Fuuka and Kikuno as they stroll through the central lane of the festival square. The two of them are chatting warmly, laden with shopping bags that don’t belong to either of them. Just ahead, Yukari is clinging to Sae’s arm, a lot louder, a lot brighter, and a lot closer than Sae is used to. But Sae smiles, nonetheless, and when Yukari lays her head on her shoulder, she doesn’t pull away._ _  
__  
__It flies over Futaba and Kana, hiding from the crowd in an alcove a little too small for the two of them. It hears Futaba’s impish giggling, and sees the flush of red creeping up Kana’s face. When a Knight in full armor tugs them out of hiding with a stern, yet weary look on her face, Futaba squeals ‘smoke bomb!’ and runs away, Kana at her heels, the two of them giggling madly while the angel smiles and shakes her head._ _  
__  
__It flies over Kawakami, nodding off on her picnic blanket after a long day at work. She’s talking about her students, half-asleep and slurring. Tae listens and gives knowing nods, a glass bottle in one hand, idly curling her fingers through Kawakami’s hair. She lifts her bottle and waves as Ohya comes by. Ohya grins, tugs open the cooler Tae’s sitting against, and pulls out a pair of bottles. Tae clinks her glass against Ohya’s, and then she’s off, making a beeline for Chihaya’s fortunetelling table._ _  
__  
__The white butterfly continues on, flitting past Knight-Commander Israfel strolling through the crowd with her personal escort of Valkyries, past Yusuke sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket, thoughtfully chewing the tip of his pencil, as he struggles to capture the image of Haru, smiling, serene, with flower petals in her hair._ _  
__  
__A contingent of Hunters stand guard in the square. Makoto stands before them, her spine straight, her hands clasped behind her back, a noble expression on her face. To her quiet chagrin, Ann, Shiho and Ryuji are all crowding around her, doing everything they can to slip through her composure. The Hunters flanking Makoto fight their hardest not to laugh. But Makoto isn’t so easily shaken._ _  
__  
__Finally, they break through- Ryuji with his fingers raised as bunny ears above Makoto’s head, and Ann and Shiho kissing her cheeks on either side. Makoto explodes, exasperated and fuming about how they can’t do that while she’s at work. Hifumi’s laugh, bright and clear, draws Makoto’s attention in a snap- and then the realization that Hifumi’s filmed the whole damn thing on her smartphone makes Makoto wail in mortified outrage. They run, cackling madly. Makoto watches them go. She takes a deep breath, and returns to her post._ _  
__  
__“You didn’t see anything,” she hisses to her fellow Hunters._ _  
__  
__“No, ma’am,” they respond._ _  
__  
__Makoto grumbles and shakes her head, but she’s smiling in the end._ _  
__  
__Akira’s waiting for them beneath a cherry tree, laid out on their plus-sized picnic blanket, and utterly surrounded by bento. Admittedly, much of their dinner had been supplied by Sojiro- curry, naturally, as to this day Sojiro was still a bit of a one-note cook. Akira thought Sojiro made the best curry out there, although Futaba continues to insist that Akira perfected the recipe._ _  
__  
__They crash back onto the picnic blanket, Yusuke deftly maneuvering himself so none of them so much as nudge his sketchpad. Ryuji and Ann are loud and rowdy as ever, but even Hifumi’s getting caught up in the commotion. Shiho trails at their heels, kneeling primly beside Haru._ _  
__  
__“You look radiant,” Shiho chirps._ _  
__  
__“As do you,” Haru beams, her hair shivering with cherry petals. As the first of the sakura begin to land in Shiho’s own, jet-black hair, Yusuke clutches his chest as if he’s having a stroke- of genius. He starts sketching furiously, his pencil all-but stabbing into the page, all while he mutters to himself things about ‘high contrast’ and ‘night and day’._ _  
__  
__Akira knows all about high contrast. His relationship with his inner circle had a bipolar quality to it- blissful and serene one moment, fast-paced and rambunctious the next. They crowd around him, Ryuji propping himself up on Akira’s shoulders from behind._ _  
__  
__“Check this out,” Ryuji grins, catching Hifumi’s phone and thrusting it into Akira’s hands._ _  
__  
__Akira watches, a broad smile creasing his face._ _  
__  
__“You shouldn’t bug Makoto when she’s on duty,” Akira smiles, his glasses flashing in the light. “She hates that.”_ _  
__  
__“She loves it,” Ann grins._ _  
__  
__Futaba comes running past, cackling her head off, dragging a bemused Kana along by the hand. Akira watches them go, catching sight of Mishima in the crowd. He was clapping along, off-beat, to a grasshopper-winged fairy playing a pan flute, while a butterfly-winged fairy was trying to teach him to dance._ _  
__  
__In the distance, he sees Lavenza and Morgana ambling through the crowd, hand in hand. Morgana’s blue eyes flash his way. Morgana smiles nervously. Akira smiles back._ _  
__  
__In the corner of Akira’s eyes, a white butterfly flits away._ _  
__  
__“Are you giving my sister a hard time?” comes a voice._ _  
__  
__Akira turns, and finds Sae standing above them, arms crossed, a wry smile on her face._ _  
__  
__“No, ma’am,” Ryuji replies, grinning. “Just keepin’ her shift interesting.”_ _  
__  
__“Hey, guys!” Yukari waves, poking her head over Sae’s shoulder. “Hey, you,” she adds._ _  
__  
__“Hey, you,” Ann chirps. “Where’s Mitsuru? She’s missing all the fun.”_ _  
__  
__“Oh, you know her,” Yukari smiles. “Busy, busy, busy…”_  
  
~*~  
  
Evenings at the Yongen-jaya Lodge are quieter than most. As district headquarters for the Hunter’s Association, each Lodge served as a place for Hunters to regroup, relax, recover, and get word of new missions and alerts. Some Lodges, like the one at Kinshicho or Shinjuku, were bars, and thus got most of their business- and electricity- at night. But not here, in Yongen-jaya.  
  
Sanae lit the last of the array of candles she lit every night after the electric lights went down, shaking out her match. Behind the counter, Sojiro was drying off a coffee mug with a dish towel.  
  
“You really don’t want to go?” Sanae was asking, taking a seat at the bar.  
  
“I think I’m a little old to be going on picnics,” Sojiro shrugged.  
  
“Hey, if I’m not, you’re not,” Sanae grinned.  
  
There was a jingle of chimes above the door, and a man in a worn suit stepped in.  
  
“Yoshi!” Sanae said brightly. “Come on in, come on in!”  
  
“Sanae, Sojiro,” Yoshida said warmly, nodding to the duo.  
  
“Welcome,” Sojiro said. “Here for a cup of coffee? ‘Fraid we’re out of curry for the night, but come back in the morning and I’ll have a fresh batch ready.”  
  
“Thank you, Sojiro, but no,” Yoshida said. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”  
  
The door chimed again. Sojiro’s gaze grew hard, wary.  
  
“...Ambassador Kirijo,” he said.  
  
“Good evening,” Mitsuru said quietly. She glanced at Sanae. “...May we have a word in private?”  
  
“Oh!” Sanae said, a little too quickly. “I was just about to step out and get a few groceries, anyhow. I’ll, um… I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
Sanae shouldered past Yoshida and Mitsuru, quietly stepping out. She pointedly flipped the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, before vanishing down Yongen-jaya’s narrow, shadowed streets.  
  
Mitsuru crossed to the counter, meeting Sojiro’s eyes. She took a seat. Yoshida remained standing.  
  
“Sojiro Sakura,” she began. “I’m here tonight with a business proposition. To be perfectly frank, I’m here to offer you a job.”  
  
“I’m no diplomat,” Sojiro shrugged.  
  
“We are beginning an engineering project the likes of which this world has never seen,” Mitsuru said. “A project that could use someone with your skills. A project that needs the best of the best.”  
  
“If you’re looking for a genius,” Sojiro said levelly, “you should have asked my daughter.”  
  
“You were once a researcher in the field of cognitive psience,” Yoshida said, withdrawing a file from his briefcase. “That background will give you valuable insight into the nature of this project.”  
  
Sojiro took the offered folder. He flipped through the documents within- proposals, prototypes, sample schematics.  
  
“It has been a long year. Tokyo has endured this far, thanks to the ingenuity of her people and the grace of the Angels,” Mitsuru began, as Sojiro read. “However, the Holy Knights have declared, from day one, that they will not leave, nor will the Halo recede, until the threat posed by the Breach has been dealt with. They have no plans or intention of sealing the Breach anytime soon. And I have no intention of allowing the military occupation of Tokyo by a hostile force to continue indefinitely.”  
  
“I thought the angels were our allies?” Sojiro mused.  
  
“Only for now,” Mitsuru said darkly. “Only for as long as it suits them. Director Yoshida and I have spent the last year negotiating on behalf of humanity. The angels allow us certain liberties because they know we lack the strength to take them by force. We need the angels, but they don’t need us. At any time, at any moment, this alliance could crumble- and in the conflict that would follow, we would be hopelessly outmatched.”  
  
Sojiro took a deep breath. “...What are you suggesting?”  
  
“The Angels are powerful,” Yoshida offered. “Humanity needs some power of its own.”  
  
Sojiro sighed deeply. He snapped the folder shut and slapped it down on the counter.  
  
“You’re playing with fire, Ambassador Kirijo,” he said grimly.  
  
“I’m well aware,” Mitsuru said. “But when Prometheus gave fire to humanity, he must have known some people would get burned. As I’ve said, Tokyo has survived thus far thanks to the cooperation of the Holy Knights and our own ingenuity. We have light, heat, food, defense against demons. What we don’t have- yet- is a solution.”  
  
Mitsuru took the file and offered it to Sojiro.  
  
“ _This_ is the solution,” Mitsuru said. “This will end the blackout, and the lockdown. This is the solution to our energy crisis- the end of strict power rationing and brownout zones. This might even have the power to seal the Breach and put an end to this invasion for good. Humanity _must_ have the strength to stand on its own two feet. We will do this on behalf of all mankind. Will you join us, Dr. Sakura?”  
  
Sojiro closed his eyes.and exhaled. He took the folder from Mitsuru’s hands, opening it to its first page.  
  
“The ‘ ** _Yamato Perpetual Reactor_** ’...”  
  
Sojiro looked up.  
  
“When do we start?”  
  
~*~  
  
_One year ago, war came to Tokyo._ _  
__  
__On the first day, there was a blackout. There were muggings. There were robberies,. There were arsons, unexplained animal attacks, and a cult running around, spewing bullshit about the end of the world._ _  
__  
__But the world did not end._ _  
__  
__On the second day, there was a massacre. Hundreds of people sacrificed to drag a fifty foot monster out of one world and into ours. Some of us tried to fight it. And when they won, it exploded, taking all of Shibuya with it, and cutting a hole in the world where Shibuya Crossing once stood._ _  
__  
__But the world did not end._ _  
__  
__On the third day, angels descended upon us. The war was over. But there was no peace. There were still angels above us and demons rising up from below, and all humanity caught in the crossfire._ _  
__  
__But the world did not end._ _  
__  
__One year ago, war came to Tokyo. Since then, the sky’s fallen in, a darkness has blotted out the sun, and the only light we ever see is the distant, artificial glow of the Halo the angels set up so that no one, human or demon, can ever leave the city._ _  
__  
__Life goes on._ _  
__  
__We survive. We get by. We take what we can get and we fight so we can keep it._ _  
__  
__Angels watch from every street corner. Demons lurk in every shadow. Some of them are friendly. Most of them aren’t. Some people talk about how someone’s gonna find a way to close the Breach for good, and everything will go back to the way it was._ _  
__  
__But that world is gone. The world will never be the same._ _  
__  
__The past is lost. The future is uncertain._ _  
__  
__But this is not the way the world ends._ _  
__  
__The board is set. The pieces are still standing._ _  
__  
__The World has changed._ _  
__  
_**_Tokyo Resists._** _  
_  
~*~


End file.
